Wishing it Was
by Samantha Bridges
Summary: Is the GD up to his old tricks? Clarice and a new FBI agent head off to Colorado to find out if their new killer is really Lecter. Second story in the 'Wishes' Trilogy.
1. Denver

Here it is, the return of Clarice Starling. I promised that I would do a sequel, and this is the more serious tale of the two. The zombie tale will pop up after I finish a bit more 'research', as it were. (The video store really loves me, seeing how many bad films I can check out.) Anyhoo, I figured it out, and here be the disclaimers: Clarice and Hannibal are, sadly, not mine; instead belonging to Thomas Harris. (Along with Ardelia and Clint Pearsall) There may also be some Tom Clancy characters mentioned in passing, since I can't chase them out of my head while I try to finish reading 'The Sum of All Fears'. Lindsey, Taisa, random agents and SAICs belong to me. And the poor souls who die (Seems I can't write a story without at least ONE dead body) belong to me. Think that covers it all. Hope you enjoy!!!

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Colorado. The air shimmers off the asphalt of the parking lot in the late July heat. Dry heat, without the humidity she was used to in Texas. Often she wondered as she stared out the window if it were any better than her native state. Oh the city itself was, Denver had more to offer than Amarillo ever would. And it was pleasant to step outside and not be assaulted by the buzz of cicadas everywhere. There was enough culture to suit her needs, when she had the time to go and visit the attractions. She particularly liked the Museum of Nature and Science, and that was the one place where she maintained a membership. When she needed to think she would go there and spend hours wandering through the many halls and exhibits. 

Unfortunately her eyes are drawn back from the window by the beeping of her computer. A new window had popped up on the screen, the top edge of it blinking, requesting her attention. She glared at the message on the interoffice messaging service. What happened to the days when people phoned you or knocked on your door when they needed to speak to you? The middle drawer of her desk if briefly opened and a small hand mirror, heart shaped, is withdrawn and her reflection checked in it. If she was going to be hauled up to the upper echelons, then she'd better be at least semi-presentable. She grabbed her suit jacket off the back of her chair and shrugged it over the sleeveless top she was wearing with the skirt. Always conscious of the energy saving measures that they were forced to undertake, though she wondered if it did much good, she flicked off the light switch as she left the tiny office.

Smiles and brief greetings are exchanged as she passes through the hallways and out to the bank of elevators just outside the section she works in. She hated elevators, sure that she would get stuck in one when it decided to take an uncontrolled plunge. The button for the sixth floor is pushed and she sinks into her customary corner, left hand gripping the rail that is bolted to the wall. The Rolling Stones' 'I Can't Get No Satisfaction' plays over the speakers. How ironic life could be. Shuttled out here to Colorado after making a few people unhappy in Washington. Not the first agent to be thrown into a media circus, especially not the first who was thrown into that due to the misinterpretation of her dealings with a known sociopath. What she wouldn't give to have some advice on how to handle this whole thing.

The doors slide open and she releases the rail, stepping out of the elevator and straightening the hem of her jacket. She smiled at the secretary that sat just inside the lobby and received a smile in return, along with a wave down a hallway. It surprised her, that after being renowned for her calm and almost icy exterior, she had the nickname of 'Ice Queen' during her stint at the Academy, that her heart was fluttering. A quick check indicated that her palms were dry and that her hands, nor any other extremities, were not shaking. She drew in a deep breath and approached the conference room that lay down the small hallway. A pause at the door, catching the SAIC's eye as he waved her in. 

"Lindsey Singleton. Glad you could make it here. Have a seat." 

She could do little more than nod and shuffle to a chair that had its back to a bank of windows. The summer heat made the view of the civic center shiver, even through the haze of pollution. She could feel the sun's heat on the back of her neck as she sat, and tried not to outright stare at the group gathered around the table. One of her friends form the academy sat across the table from her and Lindsey caught her eye. Taisa Keller shook her head minutely, indicating along with the raised eyebrows that she had no clue either. It was like sitting in on a Who's Who of FBI fame. It made her more than a little nervous, and the nervousness was working its way into a tremor in her leg. SAIC Trevor Loren cleared his throat and shut the door behind him. She felt his gaze drift over the table as he took a seat at the end near the door.

"Thank you all for coming here today. I know it was on rather short notice, but we didn't get the word until this morning." She watched as Loren traded a look with Clint Pearsall at the other end. If the single event of this impromptu meeting wasn't enough to raise wind that something was up, that look cemented the fact. Lindsey felt her eyes lock on Pearsall, then shoot back over to Loren, who was once again clearing his throat. 

"All of you are here because you have prior experience in the field of serial killers. Special Agents Starling and Mapp are from Behavioral Sciences back in Washington. We're stepping up our efforts in the manhunt for this man." he held up an eight by ten picture that was immediately recognizable. Ever observant, Lindsey saw Clarice Starling momentarily stiffen at the sight of the face. Bells were going off inside Lindsey's brain as she tried to process everything. Hannibal Lecter. THE Hannibal Lecter was the focus of their manhunt. She stared at the photograph that Trevor was holding. Unbelievable. She tuned her excitement out and listened to him speak.

"Dr. Hannibal Lecter, ladies and gentleman. I needn't tell you that he is dangerous. He escaped from prison four months ago, and is presumed to be in Colorado, somewhere along the Front Range. We have teams all along the I-25 corridor, the Springs and Pueblo are the other hot spots we are looking in besides the Denver Metro area. All of the state's law enforcement authorities are on alert, in case we misjudged and he shows up elsewhere."

"There's been a number of murders recently in the Springs area that fit the profile of Lecter's previous victims. All male, all within middle age. All have had internal organs removed, most notably the sweetbreads or the liver and kidneys. This along with other evidence points towards Lecter. He's come out of retirement, so to speak."

Lindsey was tapping her leg listening to all of this, taking it in. She'd seen the case file from Colorado Springs a few days back. It hadn't been her case, Taisa's rather, so she didn't dig through it. Back on the trail of a serial killer, something she hadn't expected to be doing again. Not after the whole debacle in Washington. She'd become the media's new little darling after her dealings with Jacob Preston. She'd been the one who had caught him, arrested him, put him in prison. But not until after suffering a blow to her own life. She had been dating Jacob at the time, unaware until it was almost too late that he was the man she was searching for. She bore a long scar on her abdomen from his attack on her. Washington didn't need another scandal on its hands, so they shuttled her cross country. Resigned her to a paper shuffling desk job. Someone had pulled some strings to get her on this one.

"Singleton, you're going to be running point on this thing. I want you and Starling down in Colorado Springs by this evening."

Her head whipped towards Loren, eyes going wide with disbelief. "Me? Um, sir, do you think that's really…"

"I do. Don't argue, Lindsey. I want you in my office before you go." he made sure she nodded and understood before he returned to addressing the entire table. "You'll each receive a copy of the case file, I want everyone's full out on this one. That's all. Let's get cracking, folks."

There was a shuffle of feet and chairs on the carpet as the small assembly stood. Lindsey felt a little lightheaded as she stood. Taisa was grinning and giving her a thumbs up as they both moved towards the door. They made their way out into the hall, and Lindsey cast a glance at Trevor's retreating back as he headed back towards his office. Taisa tapped her arm and nodded down the opposite hall.

"Way to go, Lin!!! What did you do to get that? Sleep with him?" If Taisa was anything, it was brash. Nothing fazed the woman, she would share the details of her sex life with you without batting an eye. It was a wonder she didn't get hauled in for sexual harassment, this being the very politically correct age and all. Lindsey on the other hand couldn't contain her blush. 

"No, I didn't sleep with him. Dammit, Taisa. I didn't know anything about this case, I thought I was doomed to putting stuff in my 'Out' basket forever." Taisa grinned as they walked out to the elevator bank. "Either they're giving me another chance, or they're hoping that I'll fail so miserably, they'll have a reason to be rid of me."

"I vote for option A, Lin."

Lindsey glared at her friend, making a face as she punched the down button for Taisa. "I think I'm going to get the boot. Like I need more stress in my life." she rolled her eyes and looked up to the ceiling. The elevator arrived and the doors slid open, forcing the women to step out of the way as a couple of agents stepped out. Taisa grasped the door to keep it from closing immediately as she stepped into the car.

"Nah, they'll be singing your praises after this one. Have faith, Lin. You're not dating this one." An evil sardonic grin was given as she released the door and it closed. Lindsey growled and spun away. Now that she was in a thoroughly bad mood, perfect for facing SAIC Trevor P. Loren. She hadn't made it two steps before she was stopped again.

"Agent Singleton?" Lindsey was slow in turning to face the voice. Better face it now, since she'd be spending God knows how long with her. "I'm Clarice Starling."

"I know who you are." Lindsey spat out, instantly regretting it. _Damn you, Taisa_. She sighed and apologized. "Sorry, Agent Keller was having some fun ruffling my feathers."

Starling regarded her with those deep blue eyes, and Lindsey saw a spark of understanding in them. "I completely understand. You were the one who caught Jacob Preston." it wasn't a question, only a statement. and it was true whether Lindsey acknowledged it or not.

"Yeah."

"Look, I understand how the media can take things and twist them around. I went through it all too." She smiled, trying to be friendly. Clarice was going to be working with her, best to have it get off on the good foot. Acknowledge that they had something in common.

"Which is why you're back on this case. Forgive me, Agent Starling, but I followed your career and the whole case involving Lecter the first time. You caught him, put him in prison, now he's out. The media had a field day after it came out that you were in a house with him and watched him kill a man without doing anything to stop him. I know, drugged, but the media doesn't give a rip about the truth. They twisted your tale into the sensation it is today, and I'm willing to bet that Jane Morricone has made millions off that damned book. There was nothing to twist in my case. I _was_ involved with the killer, and completely oblivious to it. It's the stuff that soap operas are made of." She stopped, realizing how bitter she sounded and saw the smile slipping from the older agent's face. _Drumroll, please. You have a talent for turning everything into shit, don't you Lin?_ She ran a hand over her face, sighing and trying to recover from her huge mistake.

"Sorry. I'm not really this touchy. This just has me in weird sorts."

Amazingly, Starling nodded. She was just as unhappy with the case. "Once again, completely understandable. Makes you wonder if they're just setting us up to fail."

Laughter escaped Lindsey's lips. "Oh good. I'm not the only one who thinks that." she caught a glance at the clock above them on one wall. Ten til one. Better get her ass into Loren's office before she got in trouble. She managed a smile at Clarice, excusing herself. She was glad that the other agent didn't follow. Trevor Loren, tired and aging rapidly in his middle age waved her into the office. He has a small, thin face, age and care worn from too many years in the field. There are laughlines emanating from his eyes and the corners of his lips when he smiles. The watery grey eyes are hidden behind glasses that correct his myopia. Thick salt and pepper hair completes his visage, and is growing a bit long, slightly shaggy over the ears. Some how Lindsey knows that a haircut is probably the last thing on the SAIC's mind.

"Lindsey, come in, have a seat." He leaned over the desk, watching her and she was reminded of a hawk watching a rabbit. There was still a very sharp mind behind those features. Groomed for this job by the best. He had worked with Crawford and Graham. Lindsey cam in, taking a seat in the only open chair. 

"We have a lot to cover in a short time, Singleton, so listen up."

*****


	2. Colorado Springs

Oh, BTW, this is going to be book canon from Hannibal, with a few liberties. (I rewrote the ending!!!!) So….. for anyone who has not read it, it is suggested reading material. (And no body parts were lost in the making of this story.) Tralala… 

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The room is warm as the midday sun is filtered in through the curtained window. The thrumming of the air conditioner set on 'HIGH' does little to assuage the heat, but the rooms occupants do not mind, really. There is a single white sheet on the bed, covering two human shaped mounds. The once crisp sheet is the only item on the once fully dressed bed that did not make it onto the floor. Heaped ungracefully between wall and bed are the blankets and the comforter. One of the figures shifts, rolls over, and spoons against her companion. She issues a contented 'hmmmm' as she feels his arm drape over her. She continues sleeping as she feels his breath on the back of her neck, passing through the loose strands of blonde hair. She feels him shift a little but doesn't stir.

Her companion moves to lay on his back, opening his eyes to glance at his lover's hair spread on the pillow. She has been with him for four months now, since they had met on the flight coming in from Los Angeles. Fate had drawn them to each other, since they kept finding themselves in all the same places. He was given to impulses, and she had proven to be a nice distraction from other memories that had been dogging him. Brief respite from her face in his dreams, her voice in his ears. She had achieved what she had always wanted that night at the lake house: advancement. Funny, he had promised her that upon their first meeting, but had no intention of giving it to her that night. He stretches beneath the sheet as he thinks, letting himself step into her room in his memory palace. Caught in that moment in the firelight, right before everything had gone wrong.

_"Hannibal Lecter, did your mother feed you at her breast?"_

"Yes."

"Did you ever feel that you had to relinquish the breast to Mischa? Did you ever feel you were required to give it up for her?"

A beat. "I don't recall that, Clarice. If I gave it up, I did it gladly."

Clarice Starling reached her cupped hand into the deep neckline of her gown and freed her breast, quickly peaky in the open air. "You don't have to give up this one." she said. Looking always into his eyes, with her trigger finger she took warm Chateau d'Yquem from her mouth and a thick sweet drop suspended from her nipple like a golden cabochon and trembled with her breathing.

He came swiftly from his chair to her, went on a knee before her chair, and bent to her coral and cream in the firelight his dark sleek head. The sound that came next was completely unexpected. He pulled back in surprise when he heard the snap of the handcuff on his wrist. He met her eyes and saw the quickly conflicting emotions there. There was a tear in her eye, making its way to roll down her cheek as she had whispered.

"I'm sorry Hannibal."

It had been a matter of moments before SWAT had burst through the front doors to the lake house and found them in the drawing room. Clarice unlocked her cuff as he was forced roughly to the floor in front of her, arms being painfully wrenched behind his back. He had given so much, for Mischa to have her place in his Clarice and he had been coldly denied. The image of that single tear on her cheek was seared into his memory from that night forward.

He was standing in her room now, silent and still. The image before him was her face and that tear, preserved in detail. He could see the firelight in her pupils as the swiftly racing emotions chased across her visage. There is a heavy sigh as he steps back through the door and into the hallway, closing the heavy oak door behind him. He returns to his place in the bed, looking up at the bright white of the ceiling. Leigh dozes lightly next to him, having rolled away once again. Too long in a world of yesterdays once again. He moves behind her, pulling her close and brushing blonde hair off her pale shoulder. He lays soft kisses against it, wishing to succumb to the moment and chase that night from his mind for a time.

*****

Following the directions given her over the phone, Lindsey exited the interstate and turned left onto from the exit lamp and onto Bijou Street. The golden steeple of St. Mary's cathedral towered over them, glowing in the early evening sun, which had begin to dip towards the mountains. Lindsey had never really been into the Springs, usually only seeing it pass by as she drove down I-25. Downtown is a mess of one way streets and is trying to remake itself into the bustling city center it once was. The Crown Victoria was turned right onto Tejon, headed for Colorado. The street was starting to come to life, and was home to some of the more popular and trendy nightclubs. Young couples walked the sidewalks, bunching at the cross streets as they waited for the crosswalk signals. Music pounded into the early evening, competing with the heat for presence. Clarice looked out the windows, taking it all in through the tinted glass. Lindsey was too busy concentrating on the street signs and her directions to take much notice.

They had just passed into Castle Rock when Lindsey's cell phone had begun ringing. The theme to 'Dragnet' had buzzed through the car's interior. Clarice had giggled as Lin had dug the phone from her purse on the backseat, bringing the small silver object forward. A quick glance at the called ID screen before she flipped it open forewarned her to the bad news. She grimaced as she had dropped the phone back onto the backseat, relaying the message to Clarice as she edged the Ford over the speed limit. There had been another murder in the Springs, a jogger in Memorial Park this time. It was to be the first time they had had an attack during daylight hours. The rest of the forty minute ride had been spent in silence.

Clarice had wondered if it really had been _he_ that had committed the murders. Would he really be so brash as to attempt to return to his old ways after being free for all of ten months? He had been contained by those prison walls for three years and two months before everything had gone wrong. Clarice had been pulled from a comfortable sleep with the news, and the wrong assumption of the FBI that he was going to come after her. She had no doubt in her mind that he would never come, he was a man that stood by his promises. She was the one who had failed him, choosing to ere on the side of the law and not on her heart. She had never visited him once during his incarceration, unable to bear the pain of seeing him caged once again. And she had done that for what? Not because of the loss of Paul Krendler. That was not a loss. The sound of the crossbow sounded once again and her stomach did a flip flop. D below Middle C. She had gained her advancement, now fully in Behavioral Sciences, no longer running jump out squad or serving warrants.

No, now she was back on his case, yet she was sure he did not yet know this. No press to splash her face all over the front page, to turn her career into a love story. Beauty and the Beast. That was a laugh. She was sure the media would be alerted soon enough, especially with the lambs that were being offered up to them. The FBI's 'Bad Girls', her and Lindsey. She was sure that the younger agent knew as well as she did that their praise in the FBI was just a bunch of horse crap. Once again Clarice knew she was the lamb, and that her beloved doctor wouldn't be able to save her this time. Plus, she wasn't the captive of a twisted serial killer this time around. ON that thought, she moved in her seat, pulling the back of her shirt away from the leather and tugging it off her back. The scar was still there. She sighed and rubbed her eyes as Lindsey pulled into the parking lot at the park.

*****

They were standing on the running path that rimmed Prospect Lake now, looking down to the shore and the lapping wavelets. The sun was sinking behind the mass of Pikes Peak now, and dusk was consuming the world rapidly. A few joggers slowed as they were detoured from their normal route, looking at the assembly of police officials inside the crime scene tape, and the huddle of reporters outside it. A man's body lay half in and half out of the water, face down. Clarice had stopped her breath for a moment as she looked at the man's back. The words were uttered before she could stop them, gaining looks from the officers around her.

"Bloody Eagle, Agent Starling? What's that?"

Donnie Barber's dead form was resurrected in her mind's eye, along with his companion the deer. Their hearts had weighed exactly the same, she recalled. "Short ribs separated from the spine, then the lungs are pulled back through and flattened to resemble wings. Norse sacrificial custom, there was a neo-Viking running around in the thirties doing it."

"Ah. Glad someone knew. Well, Pete might have, but he knows everything." The detective had turned away, headed towards the body. The public relations spokesman took his place, grinning at Starling.

"Nice catch, Agent. Should be a great help to have you on this case. As long as you don't fall in love with him." The man winked and Clarice used every ounce of willpower she had to keep from decking him. God dammit! He smiled again and then turned to leer at Lindsey, who looked as if she would like to shove him into the lake. He headed back over to the huddle of reporters outside the cordoned area, slicking his hair back as he walked and preparing to inform them of the illustrious agents they had helping on the case. Let the circus begin.

*****


	3. Ten O'Clock News

Fate keeps happening.

-Anita Loos

*****

Lindsey lay on the hotel room bed with her head near the foot of the hard mattress, watching the evening news and idly glancing at the case file spread in front of her elbows. The reporter was speaking into the microphone, looking grim in the face of the camera, and blinking in the setting sun. The feed was from four hours ago, and Lin saw herself walking around in the background by the lake. She upped the volume by a couple notches, to better hear what the reporter was saying.

"Guy Montag was found late this afternoon by another jogger, and police arrived minutes after the call. It appears to be another in a series of murders that have been plaguing the Colorado Springs area for the past two months. The killings seem to follow the pattern of a series of murders committed in the nineteen seventies by the infamous psychiatrist Dr. Hannibal Lecter." There was an old black and white picture flashed on screen as the reporter continued. Even in black and white, as the photo was, Dr. Lecter had eerie eyes. She shook her head at the cold feeling in her bones and continued listening to the newscast. 

"If you do see Dr. Lecter, do not approach him. He is considered to be very dangerous and may be armed. If seen, alert authorities as soon as possible, do not try to apprehend the suspect yourself. We have been informed that the FBI is helping on this case, and you can see two of their agents there behind us. We've been told that they are Special Agents Clarice Starling and Lindsey Singleton." The camera zoomed in on her and Clarice, catching Lin as she shook her head as she stepped back from the waters edge. As always, she thought she looked horrible on camera. She looked back down at her file, tapping a pen against her chin as she scanned over the details of the murders so far. The reporter's voice droned on like an insect on the background as she dropped the sound again.

"Mr. Montag was a local fireman. Services have yet to be planned but the family has set up a trust fund. You can make donations by calling…"

*****

The room was heavy with the scent of lavender as she stepped from the shower. The rushing water had done little to clear her head, but it had sufficed to wash the essence of Chip Clayson from her body. That man was as oily and as creepy as Paul Krendler had been. Hopefully, as much as she had appreciated it, He would not arrive to put a quarrel through Lt. Clayson. She glared at her reflection in the mirror as she went to double check the locks on the door. D below middle C. 

_"That particular frequency of the crossbow string, should you hear it again in any context, means only your complete freedom and peace and self-sufficiency."_

Damn him! She would never be rid of him, no matter how much she oft wished to be. No matter how many miles, no matter how many walls, no manner how many tears she put between them, he would always be there. And now, now she was here, put on his case once more. Did the FBI expect to create some grand spectacle for the masses in front of their televisions sets? Attempting to place her face on every cover of every tabloid that the housewives read while they waited in line with their children? Why had she slapped those cuffs on him that night? He had been ready to take her away from all of this, to give her a life with him. Because she was between iron and silver. Because of her morals and her duties, because of her commitment to the _F.B.I._ That was why. She was incorruptible, would forever remain that way, and she would never allow her heart to decide her destiny.

*****

The stars are bright in their fire above, glittering like a million jewels spilt on velvet. The antennas atop the peak of Cheyenne Mountain blink red against the starlit skies, and the Shrine to the Sun is floodlit lower on the mountain. The Broadmoor stands at the end of Lake Avenue, its pink exterior dimmed in the night, the eye drawn to the lit globe of light atop it. Couples stroll round the Lake within the resort, and a few relax on benches that line the paths. Bring you attention across the street form the resort now, as a handsome couple strolls along the sidewalk in front of the International Center. The woman's blonde hair just brushes her shoulders as she lightly grasps her companion's arm. Her bell-like laughter carries in the night only dimmed by the roar of a random passing vehicle. The heat from the day is slowly dissipating, as is the winds that have been accompanying it, making for a pleasant evening. They slowly cross the street, Leigh still singing some of the tunes that had been on the piano while they were in the Golden Bee.

The Golden Bee is an authentic English pub, made even more authentic due to the fact that it was disassembled in England, packed into crates, and shipped to the United States. The interior is dark and soot stains from the old oil lamps mark the walls and ceilings above the sconces and chandeliers. The wallpaper that covers the walls has tiny bees on it, in keeping with the pub's name. Leigh was a bit tipsy now as they walked back to their suite in the hotel, seeing as she had finished off a full yard of ale. She sang in the elevator, earning looks from the couple in there with them, and her companion smiled apologetically. They returned to the room in time for the late newscast, and he left it there as he changed into something more comfortable. Leigh brushed a kiss against his cheek and intoned that she was going to take a bath, and that he was quite welcome to join her. He politely declined and continued unknotting his tie. The voice on the TV stopped him mid motion.

Slowly he settled onto the edge of the bed, nicely remade by the maids after they had left the suite this afternoon. There was a tiny glint of surprise in his eyes as he listened to the continuing story. They switched to a female reporter down in front of a lake, a breeze lifting her hair and showing a setting sun behind her. Not a live feed. He had known about the murders that had been occurring, it was hard to ignore when they often occupied the front page of the local newspapers. It was the first time he had heard a name connected to the case, though, and it was not a name he wanted to be connected to it. The hotel suite and his lover in the bathroom were forgotten as the television absorbed his full attention. The entire world ceased to exist as the next name was mentioned and the camera zoomed in on the group of law enforcement officials by the lake. The name slipped from his lips before he could do anything to stop it. A hand reaching out to the screen before him.

"Clarice." it was half whispered, half spoken, as if he were afraid to say it. A moment more, then the camera returned to focus on the reporter. He felt a feather touch on his shoulder and he seized the hand.

"Geez, Henry! That hurts!" Leigh was wrapped in a thick robe and yanking her hand out of his fist, rubbing at it with the hand that held a bottle of bubble bath. "I was just coming out to get a book, and you were staring at the boob tube like you had seen a ghost."

He had seen a ghost. A ghost, and a replica of that ghost standing on the edge of a lake. He pushed the images away for the moment, reaching out to take Leigh's hand, kissing it lightly. "It was nothing, dear Leigh. Go take your bath."

Leigh leaned forward and kissed him before turning to the dresser and taking a paperback from it. He caught the title as she padded back to the bathroom, and sighed. Romance novels were such rubbish, perfectly detrimental to the welfare of women and society on a whole. He turned off the television set and returned to the undressing procedure, wondering about the turn of events that he was sure to come.

*****


	4. Hidey-Hole Mice

I apologize to the city of Colorado Springs for any bad publicity in this tale. Really, it's a nice city, come visit. I also apologize for making the police force slightly inept. (They're really good folks, and we appreciate all they do for us.) Hopefully, the founders are not turning over in their graves too much as I plunder their city. (Well, Gen. Jackson will be once I ruin his statue, but that's for later.) LOL I feel better now, but I don't think I'll be getting a job on the tourism board anytime soon. 

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What would be white walls within the four corners of the room are not. Instead, they are covered, collage style, of so many faces, so many eyes watching him watching them. He sits in the middle of a simple bed, crisply starched sheets with hospital corners, a flat pillow by the headboard. He is the only real color in the room, even as all the photos are in black and white. Still he sits, his chest barely rising and falling with each breath. So many faces. So many people. So many victims, some from his past, some form his future. One photo in particular, lays in front of him, eyes staring up at him. He meets those eyes, and if he closes his own, he can breathe life into the picture and envision those eyes in vibrancy once more. So long, so long ago. The sun begins to peek in around the edges of the blinds, and he feels his warmth upon his skin. Time for the day to begin. Slowly rising from the bed, headed to the bathroom, commencing the morning ritual. When he emerges, he is no different than you and I, but remember dear one, appearances can be deceiving.

*****

The Colorado Springs Airport is small, and set far south and east of the city, in the middle of rolling grasslands. The new terminal, recently christened the Robert M. Issac Memorial Terminal, after a former mayor of the city, is larger than the old terminal which sits west of the runways the airport shares with Peterson Air Force Base. Security is still tight and it is odd to disembark a plane and walk down a terminal deserted except for the arriving and departing passengers. The last passenger form the United Boeing 737 emerged from the door leading to the jetway and paused for a moment, looking out the picture windows and at the Air Force base that lay in the near distance. Sighing, she trundled the rolling suitcase along after her, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. It felt nice to walk again, after spending more time than anyone should cooped up on a number of flights. 

Her momentum carried her up the slight incline and out past the security checkpoints. She didn't look around, only noted the location of the escalators, straight ahead, and the sign indicating the location of the rental car desks. She had a leather travel purse slung over one shoulder and as she rode the escalator down she dug her membership card out from it and sighed. Three days back in the States and she had maybe ten hours of sleep under her belt. All she looked forward to was getting her car, getting to her hotel, and falling asleep. Alas, that was the preferred plan, but not the one she would have to adhere to. Direct obedience was what was required of her, and she did it almost too willingly. She shifted her weight on her stiff legs as she waited in line, finally reaching the counter and laying her card on the counter. Minutes later, the bill had been applied to her credit card, her signature on the proper forms, and she was out the door to the shuttle. Fifteen minutes after stepping off the plane Petra Morricone had stowed her suitcase in the trunk of a new Thunderbird and was on her way now to the other side of town. Following the directions the rental agent had given her, she arrived at the front desk of the Broadmoor twenty five minutes later. On time and presentable, as she had an appointment to keep.

*****

It was just after two o'clock when the front desk rang his suite to tell him that he had a visitor at the front desk. Leigh was out shopping downtown for the day, leaving him to carry out his plans in private. That, and he didn't think that Leigh would take much of a liking to his visitor. A quick glance at the clock as he left the suite gave him cause to smile. She was early. He didn't pause at the desk as he stepped into the lobby, spotting her immediately where she sat in a plush easy chair. Smiling, he came to stand in front of her, watching as she rose to greet him. She was no longer the young girl he had met in Florence, she had matured, had finally grown into the mature look her eyes had always held. Silently, he offered his arm and escorted her outside. They didn't speak until they were on the path that led around the lake.

"You are looking well, Petra." One could almost say he looked fatherly right then, escorting his favored daughter on a stroll around the lake. She smiled up at him, nearly a head shorter than he.

"Thank you. I must say that I can say the same about you, Doctor."

"I am to assume there were no problems on your flights?"

A shake of her head, the long glossy raven braid swing between her thin shoulders. "None. Customs and security were not a problem."

"I didn't expect them to be."

They walked in silence once again, Petra taking the beauty of their surroundings in. The heat was still oppressive but there were thunderheads edging over the peak of Cheyenne Mountain. By the time the Doctor and Petra had reached the far side of the lake the first sprinkles had begun. It was all they could do to avoid a flat out run into the lobby of the main building as they reached the other side of the lake once more, just dodging the torrent that was unleashed. Soon they were in his suite and she was observing the rain along with the electrical storm that danced before her. The boom of the thunder was comfortably muted by the walls and the closed window. It was hard to draw her attention away from the storm and to the matters at hand. He waited patiently for her though, watching her from a seat at the small table. She finally turned away and came to sit with him, glancing outside at any loud crack of thunder.

"Please look at these, Petra." he slid the numerous articles cut form the newspapers in front of her, sipping a glass of water as she perused the offerings. Her eyes came up to his, some of the old fear tracing through the twin green orbs.

"You haven't been…" she trailed off, looking form newsprint to him, slightly paler.

"Not in the least. I've been secure in my freedom for four months, I wouldn't attempt something so rash while the authorities attention was still focused on me."

"Oh."

"Did you bring the items I asked you to?"

"Everything I could find. Glad you chose to put those documents in a fireproof safe, seems your hidey-hole at the storage facility has a mouse problem. But, everything you asked for is intact. I have it down in my suitcase below." Pausing Petra shook her head. "It makes sense now, why you wanted those files. I really hadn't a clue while I was plugging my way through the mice."

"Were there really that many, Petra?" there was hint of a sardonic grin on his face. If Petra hadn't known better by now she would have been frightened half out of her wits.

"No, not really. But it's a pint of good storytelling to make it sound worse than it was." her wide grin earned a chuckle from the Doctor.

"Storyteller, now?"

"It's in the blood. Look at mom." there was the slightest hint of distaste on the last word, but she was learning to hide it better now. Another chuckle and he glanced at the watch he wore on his left hand. Petra noted the scar was still there, although obscured with a tanning agent and some cosmetics. He was rising and she did as well, stepping back form her chair and sliding it back against the table. 

"Not to rush you, Petra, but I do expect my companion to be returning soon. I don't think she'd take well to finding you here."

"Jealous type, Doctor?" she received a nod and she shook her head. "I'll dash then, I've reservations up at the Embassy Suites on the north end of town." she turned and started for the door, pausing as he caught up to her as she stood with it opened slightly. "It's not her, is it?"

Her. How appropriately put, but opposed to whom? He knew that she was speaking of Clarice and he shook his head. "No, it is not her."

"Didn't think so, the room didn't smell like her. Oh, that was the other thing I meant to tell you, although you'd realize it as soon as you got the files. The little bottle of perfume you had in there broke somehow, so everything smells like L'Air du Temps." A quick and slightly wicked grin was flashed at him as she ducked out the door. She paused again in the hallway, looking back over her shoulder.

"You never do things the easy way, do you?"

"Never, Petra. Besides where would the fun be in that." The smile on his face was eerie and she shivered, strolling to elevators and shaking her head. He watched the braid bounce between her shoulders for a few steps before closing the door. A sigh as he walked back to the table to clean up the clippings and start making his preparations. As if he really needed another reminder of Clarice right now.

*****


	5. Straw Down a Doodlebug Hole

I take it C, that you either share a telepathic link with Kurt, or you two are on the 'Lindsey and Petra Cat Fight' bandwagon together and are out to raise support. And gore withdrawal? Nah, I still have the swing of things. I am allowed to have a little fun time without chainsaws and springy heads. (No, Kurt.) Thanks to all my lovely reviewers, I do so apologize for my lethargic writing skills on this one. Perhaps I need another vacation, it worked to jumpstart 'Bella Donna'. Anyhoo, enough pratter, back to the chapter. 

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Night had placed its grip over the city, swiftly cooling as a cold front surged over the Rocky Mountains and dropped temperatures across the state. Sean Goshen was slowly making headway up the hilly path on his mountain bike, the thin Spandex shorts and shirt he wore offering little resistance to the night's chill. He had his eyes focused on the top of the hill and was reminded for a moment of reading a book to his niece the other night. _The Little Engine That Could_, with the repetitive strain of 'I think I can, I think I can.' He felt himself mouth the words as he steadily pumped upwards. Slowly, the parking lot beyond came into view along with the passing cars on Vindicator. The beam form the helmet mounted lamp did little to illuminate his surroundings, barely providing him with enough light to make out the trail. As he surmounted the hill there was an odd shadow to his left. He glanced that way, and nearly fell from his bike when he made out the shape of a man laying just off the path. Sean was off his bike in a moment, dropping it heedlessly to the dirt. 

Trying to remember what he could from his high school first aide classes Sean knelt next to the man. He looked okay in the light of the headlamp, no obvious bumps, bruises, cuts, or scrapes. Sean stripped the riding gloves from his hands, tucking them into the waistband of his shorts, and reaching to check the pulse along the carotid artery. It was there and he was relieved, okay, one down two to go. He belated remembered that he was doing it in the wrong order, not following his ABCs 'Airway, Breathing, Circulation.' He shook the man's shoulder, calling out to him.

"Sir? Can you hear me, sir? Are you okay?" he always though asking an injured person 'Are you okay?' was extremely dumb, but that was what he had been taught to ask. No reaction from the man. Gently and carefully, Sean tipped the man's head back, preparing to check his airway. He didn't see the man's eyes snap open as his ear came down to the slightly parted lips. Sean had just felt the warm brush of exhaled air against his face when an iron grip came up and around his throat. There was a quiet and coarse laugh in his ear as the thumb pressed down on his windpipe, crushing it slowly. Sean fought back, trying to pull away and slap and claw at the man who held him. His struggles slowly weakened and soon came to a stop. The man on the ground shoved the body off of himself and stood up, pale light from the headlamp playing on his legs. That was soon gone though, as he drifted into the darkness. 

*****

The police found Sean the next morning, after an early morning hiker had reported finding his body in the little valley between the hills. The entire area was cordoned off, much to the dismay of habitual users of this popular trail. Police vehicles filled the little parking lot, with a few more lined up on the side of the road. The other side of the road had people looking out on the commotion from their back decks, along with the news crews lined up on the sidewalk, each reporter postulating on the facts they had and driving home the fear that Hannibal Lecter had attacked again.

_Hannibal Lecter my ass._ Thought Lin as she sipped at a cup of hot, bitter coffee from a distance at the top of the hill. She looked down at the bike that still lay in the dirt at her feet. One pedal twirled in the breeze forlornly.

She had come to the decision two nights ago that the suspect was probably _not_ Hannibal Lecter. Really, would a fugitive with the intelligence of the doctor run out and commit murders with a nationwide manhunt still ongoing for him? The answer was a resounding 'No!' but she dared not mention this to anyone, since everyone, including Clarice, seemed convinced that Lecter was their man. She sighed and sipped the coffee again, cringing at both the taste and the thought of convincing that they had an UNSUB, and not a known sociopath on their hands. That was a task she did not wish to undertake, especially since it would probably end in her dismissal from the case. 

_Goodbye serial killer, hello desk job._

Clarice was trudging up the hill from where she had been with forensics investigators looking at the body. She looked none too happy about what she had seen this morning, having been roused from a nice, comfortable sleep. Lindsey had no such problems, as he night had been spent in a vortex of almost nightmares. She offered the other cup of coffee to the older FBI agent and stepped back a bit, looking down at the body below. The metal rod that stuck straight out from his chest winked in the sunlight as they began to lift the body into a body bag. Clarice made a face at the coffee before she spoke.

"He has a crushed trachea and it looks as if the rod pierced his heart. There's blood, so he bled out, but they won't know whether he died from the stab wound or asphyxiation until the coroner has a look at him." her voice was slightly strained and Lin could hear the weariness in her voice. 

Lin nodded and sipped at the coffee again. Better to stay silent then open her mouth and say something stupid again. Mornings were especially good times for her to do the 'open mouth, insert foot' routine. Clarice took her silence as approval to continue on with her observation and did so between tiny sips of coffee.

"Just like Raspail. He told me about him later on, since all of the records are sealed. Stabbed him while he was laying on the couch in his office, and then served him for dinner." Clarice was shaking her head, "When you don't have time to shop you just make do with what you have at home." Lindsey was trying to hide the bemused smile that was trying to worm its way onto her face. Seems the coffee's bitterness was rapidly working its way into her partner's system. Lindsey looked at the body again, right before they zippered him up. The good doctor's other remark came to mind as she looked at the winking rod.

_"Looks like a straw down a doodlebug hole, doesn't it?"_

She had pored over the files even before she was shuffled out here from Washington. Something to help her occupy her time when she was at a dead end. She had toyed with the idea of trying to visit him after he was imprisoned, but had always decided against it. The knowledge she had gleaned from everything was useful, and interesting to say the least. She could remember the first time she stepped foot inside Hannibal's House, after it was no longer Starling's personal office. Hours had been spent down there, and at times, she felt she knew him better than she knew herself. Something about these murders wasn't ringing true to him. She was so sure that if she felt this way that Clarice did too, but the woman gave no outward appearance that she felt the same way. Lin assured herself that it wasn't his style, to go and reproduce murders he had committed more than twenty five years ago. It didn't make sense. Somewhere in this city, there was a man obsessed with Hannibal Lecter, and she had to stop him.

*****


	6. Autopsies and Nightmares

Heels click monotonously on the coolly tiled hallway, their reverberations bouncing off the similarly tiled walls. The light down here is slightly blue fluorescent tubing, suspended from the ceiling above. She's been working here for seven months now, transferred from Grand Junction, and the hallway still creeps her out. Everyday she feels as if she's just set foot into some horror movie. The double doors at the end have wire-meshed windows set in them, long and skinny, looking in on the airlock to the second set of doors. There is a large push button against the wall to open the doors if ones hands are occupied. She bumps her hip against it as she nears the doors, watching them swing open with a _hiss_. They close behind her a few seconds later as she pushes her way through the second set of doors. The morgue is well lit and the floor is in the same cool tile that the hallway has been done in. She drops a thin stack of papers on the desk to the right before heading further into the white dungeon. Coming around a corner to the doors of the autopsy suite she sees Pete and a poor resident making their way through an autopsy. Before she makes three steps she immediately turns and backs out. She hears Pete laugh at her retreating back. Surely, she should have become accustomed to that stench by now.

The resident has secured the thankless job of running the gut, and he is practically holding back retches as he stands over the sink. She contains a laugh at the sight of his face. Obviously the first time he has had to do this. Pete barely casts a glance at the man before shaking his head and returning his attention to the body before him. Seeking fresher air, Candice heads back to the desk, looking over the evening's schedule. Another dull and boring night, although with Pete around, it would prove to be anything but.

Pete was a little odd, he knew everything about anything, which was good and bad. You learned a lot from working a shift with this pathologist, but some of the things you really didn't want to know. She looked toward the small radio that sat on the corner of his desk, and she could barely make out music coming from it. She moved to that side of the desk, and leaned close to hear what it was. Classical, something classical. She didn't really know, since that style of music was not her forte. That made her think of the other disturbing thing about Pete. She bumped the mouse on the desk top to bring the monitor to life. Staring back at here was an eerie photo of a man with deep red eyes. Pete had a bit of an obsession with the psychiatrist Hannibal Lecter, having purchased many objects said to belong to the man over E-bay, and even having written to the man while he was imprisoned. 

Pete didn't seem to mind that the man was supposedly running about Colorado Springs committing murders. Nor did he seem to mind that he fell into that age group that was becoming the victims of the brutal attacks. He seemed excited by it all, not frightened in the least. He did express the fact that he didn't think, in fact he _knew_, that Dr. Lecter was not committing the murders. No, not committing them, but that he would be drawn out here by them, and Pete would finally get a chance to meet the man he admired so much. Candice shook it off as just another weird trait of his, since pathologist tended to be a little odd, at least the ones she'd known. Ah well, it was a job that paid well enough, and she could deal with a little harmless fantasy from her boss, as long as he didn't think HE was Hannibal Lecter.

*****

Lindsey sat in the middle of the bed flipping through the stack of mail Taisa had so kindly driven down to deliver to her. She found herself preferring the mattress to the hard chair that sat in front of the window. The air conditioner was running and she was appreciative of the white noise to obscure the sounds of freeway construction happening outside her window. She was sorting the mail into categories, and was dropping another envelope into the bills pile when she stopped dead. The block printing of her name and address was a dead giveaway as to who it was from. The rest of the mail stack was set aside and she held the letter to the light, peering at it. She highly doubted there was anything but a letter contained within the white envelope, but she could never bring herself to trust the man again. Heaving a sigh, Lin rose from the bed and headed for the small table, plopping into the chair with less than grace. She ran her fingers over the envelope, feeling for anything hard within it. Nothing. Carefully with the edge of her room's key card, she peeled back the flap, holding her breath, the tip of her tongue peeking out from between her lips. 

She carefully drew the contents out, two sheets of plain computer paper, nothing else. She tilted them, but nothing slid from between the folded pages. Slowly, summoning her courage, she flipped on the desk lamp and unfolded the sheets. The same block printing filled the paper; neat, even, precise rows. Damn, and she had been so hoping that he had finally given up on trying to contact her. Her eyes dart quickly over the sentences, looking for anything that would set off warning bells. Nothing. Just a letter from an old friend telling of events in their life, making normal inquiries into her own. On the surface, the letter was no more than that. On the surface, Lindsey looked unaffected, her face retaining the glacial calm that had earned her her nickname in the academy. Inwardly, she felt as if a healing scab had just been torn anew. 

The letter is reread, again, this time with her lips forming the words that he had written. There was no apology in this letter, no remorse for what he had done. No, it wasn't his fault you see, society had forced him into doing this, it wasn't his fault. He didn't want to kill those women, no more than he had wanted to hurt Lindsey. She had to understand that, she had to. Lindsey felt disgust rise in her belly as she refolded the letter and shove it back into the envelope. Of all the times that he could have chosen to write her. _God must be having one hell of a time torturing me. he has to really enjoy His work._ she thought sourly as she rose from the chair, headed to the bed and gathering the remaining mail and depositing it on the table separate from his letter. 

After proceeding with the normalities of her nightly routine, which had done little to soothe her, Lindsey crawled into bed, tugging the comforter up under her chin. She hoped the nightmares would stay away, practically came to the point of begging them to, but she knew they would. Finally falling into an uneasy sleep, the first wave hot her, and a sob broke from her parted lips as she thrashed in her sleep.

_She was so frustrated, the case was getting nowhere. They had a profile of their UNSUB, which fit way too many people in the area. God it was so irritating. She paced the room, intermittently muttering curses at the ceiling. She didn't hear the door unlock or swing open, as she was too consumed with her own screaming thoughts. It was too late when she felt the knife come around the front of her throat and the hand clamp against her mouth. She drew breath to scream but the knife pressed harder against her throat, and the thick voice warned her not to._

IN her frustration she had forgotten one of the reasons she was here on this case was because she fit the victim's profile. So now, due to her own stupidity, she was about to become the seventh woman to die at the killer's hands. She fervently wished she had some protection, someone to defend her, but Jacob was out of town on a business trip. She whimpered, as she felt the hand leave her mouth and run through her hair. Her eyelids fluttered closed as she began to pray as she never had before. The thick voice was whispering in her ear, and she could feel the knit of a skimask brush against her cheek.

"You know who I am, don't you?"

She nodded, but was inclined to voice her answer after a slight press on the knife. "Yes."

"You know what I'm going to do to you then?"

Oh god did she know. The previous victims faces flashed through her mind as she replied again. "Yes."

"Good. I'll give you a choice, bedroom or living room."

How nice, I get to decide where I'll die. She knew though that her body would end up in the bedroom anyway. "Bedroom." she whispered. A passing thought wondered if he knew that she was an investigator on this case. Probability said no, but something was nagging at her. He shoved her towards the staircase, gripping her arm with his free hand. It was hard to walk up the stairs with a razor sharp blade hovering at her throat. It was eerie, the familiarity with which he steered her towards the proper door. Had he been inside her house before while she was gone? There was a good possibility. Something in her said this was a very interesting way to learn about how he did things. Too bad she wouldn't be able to share that information with anyone. 

He instructed her to lay on the bed, and he pulled four lengths of yellow nylon rope from within his black jacket. She desperately fought the fight or flight response and tried not to squirm too much on the bed. She flinched away as he reached for her hand, wondering where all her training had gone. Out the window obviously. And her instructors had assured her that she would respond immediately in a situation. Wrong-o, she thought. She was reprimanded for her flinch with a slap across the face.

"Don't move, or I'll make this all that much worse for you."

Carefully, she was secured to the bed, and once he was satisfied with her inability to move, that's when the torture began. She watched him as he stripped her and proceeded to rape her. Any whimpers or cries had earned her slaps at first, then blows with his fist. It was amazing she still retained consciousness as he finally finished with his degradation. She was surprised now, as she felt his weight leave her body, and then the slack as the ropes were untied. A wave of nausea washed over her as she was hauled to her feet moments later, looking into the eyes of her assailant. A tiny piece of knowledge detached itself and presented itself to her. She had seen those eyes before, she knew them.. Along with the mouth, nose, and chin that were beneath the ski mask. She would place it soon enough, but not as quickly as she would have liked. 

He had the knife in his hand again, carefully zippering up his fly with the other hand. There was a cruel humor in his voice as he stepped towards her. Fear briefly rooted her to the spot.

"Run, bitch. I want to see you run you fucking whore."

Almost non-existent indecision flashed through her before she did exactly what he had instructed her to do. She ran, slamming into a door opposite her own in the hallway, rocketing for the stairs. God it hurt to run, between her head and her desecrated body, but if she could make it to the door, she could live. She would have a chance, and they would catch this guy, and put him behind bars. Heavy footsteps and laughter sounded behind her as she nearly tripped down the first six steps to the landing. 

"Faster bitch, faster." he was no more than a few steps behind her when she gripped the top of the banister. The couch sat below and she calculated the distance. She had done these things as a kid and had gotten in major trouble for them. Guess mom would approve if I were trying to save my life. She felt him snatch at her as she pushed herself over the banister and fell to the couch. There was an audible crack and the groan of springs as she came down hard. A glance up told her that he was surprised. He was pounding down the stairs as she ran to the kitchen.

The locks on the door stalled her, and gave him enough time to catch up to her. She felt him grab for her and pull her away from the sliding door.

"Didn't run fast enough, bitch." the knife flashed out towards her and she ducked, throwing an arm up, connecting with the knife arm and knocking it away. She straightened and lashed out with a solid kick at his stomach, which sent him backward towards the edge of the counter. She pushed past him and grabbed at the skimask as she dove for the now unlocked door. If she could get a glimpse at the face, perhaps she could identify him later. The mask came off as she tugged simultaneously at the door, she stared as she fell out onto the deck, unable to believe what she was seeing.

"Jacob?!"

It halted him, and the motion activated light came on, blinding her briefly. The fucking UNSUB was her fiancé?! Stunned she didn't move, which turned out to be the wrong decision. Obviously, he had no qualms about what he was doing and he lashed out at her with the knife. It hurt bad, like someone was stabbing a red hot poker into her as he slashed a deep line across her abdomen. Dear god in heaven it hurt! She was quickly on the ground, curling into the fetal position as he advanced on her. She heard yelling over his heavy breathing as she lay there, trying to call for help. She could only sob, but by then lights were coming on on porches all around the neighborhood. 

She didn't see the officer that took Jacob down, didn't really hear the shot that ripped through his leg and dropped him on the ground next to her. She did remember the hazel eyes staring at hers as he was cuffed and restrained there in the deck. The whisper that came from his mouth, one she didn't answer.

"Why, Lin? I loved you."

*****

_"I loved you…"_ Lindsey bolted upright in bed, the sweat soaked sheets clinging to her body, the comforter was laying half off the bed. Damn him. Damn him, damn him, damn him. She touched the scar that lay light against her tanned belly, feeling it under the thin cotton of her tee shirt. Would she never be free of his memory?

*****


	7. Chance Encounters

Wheee! After a long and arduous battle with the computer, I have finally resolved most of the issues that have been occupying my time. Much happier and able to write again, and run more than two windows at a time. Very nice. So now that I've shared the status of my technology, off we go to rejoin Clarice and friends in Colorado!

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Sunlight pierced the small gap in the curtains and splashed across her closed eyelids, bringing her to roll over and shield her head with the lone sheet that was left on the bed with her. There was no pillow, that having been thrown at an illusionary intruder earlier in the morning. She had fought her way through nightmares all night, reliving the scenarios that had brought her to this position over and over again. There were intermissions of waking, sweat drenched and sheets twisted around her, sobs breaking from her throat as she sat in bed, only to slip back into a restless sleep once again. After a few moments of refusing to acknowledge the morn, she finally gave in as her bladder demanded relief. She didn't bother with the light as she crossed to the bathroom, knowing already that she must resemble Medusa. If pressed this earlier and in such a foul mood, she was sure she could turn a man to stone if he dared to look upon her. That caused a giggle, reminding her of her humanity. Twenty minutes later she emerged from the steamy bathroom, clutching a towel around her body and shivering as she pulled a pant suit form the closet. Another twenty minutes served to make her able to grasp the brink of looking human, as opposed to being a zombie, but it did nothing for her sodden mind. She met Clarice in the restaurant downstairs, and quickly drank the first cup of coffee straight black, hoping to jolt her system into consciousness. 

Clarice sipped carefully at her own cup of the steaming brew. Much better than the coffee the other morning when they were at the latest murder scene. She watched the younger woman, nearly ten years her junior, drink most of the cup in one fell swoop. She had shadows under her eyes, not completely hidden by the makeup, and the slightly reddened eyes did nothing but accentuate the shadows. For the crisp appearance she was presenting to the world, perfect at a distance, but up close Clarice could see the cracks and blemishes that marred the surface. If she had though she had had a hard night of it, with dreams racing through her mind about the night on Chesapeake, it had been pleasant compared to what Lindsey had obviously experienced. She pondered it for a moment, and decided to go for it. 

"Everything okay this morning, Lindsey?" the look she received over the top of the menu Lindsey had just lifted was pure murder. Either the girl wasn't a morning person or she had just trod into dangerous territory.

""I had a rough night last night, didn't get much sleep." the eyes cut down and away, back to the menu. If only she could find something that was guaranteed not to turn her stomach. Clarice opened her mouth to try again, but Lindsey caught her before a single word slipped out. "Let's leave it at that, Starling, if you don't mind."

Clarice shrugged lightly and smoothed her napkin over her lap as she perused her own menu. The only time Lindsey didn't seem ready to bite her head off was in the car on the way down here. One hell of an attitude, not unlike herself when she was younger. Thank god she had gotten over _that_. Breakfast was continued in silence, Lindsey not wanting to speak and Clarice not wanting to attempt any conversation, lest a fork become impaled between her eyes. It was going to be another long day if she remained in this mood, and Clarice was gearing herself up for the worst.

*****

The wind rippled over the marsh grasses and the cattails in the small pond by the parking lot trailhead to the trail where Sean Goshen had died. It is open to the public again, but people have become rather wary of being on the trail now. No matter that the killer only struck in a place once, like the lightning never strikes twice theory. A man whose face is shielded by a black ballcap walks along the trail, clothed in khaki slacks, sturdy shoes, and a black polo shirt. He pauses at the top of the hill, looking down at the still indented grass below where Goshen's body had been found. He had read the article in the paper, which had been fairly informative, yet lacked details. Details were what he needed. He slowly moved down the hill, looking at the indented place. Stabbed through the heart with a metal rod, not unlike his murder of Raspail. Raspail of the gluey flute. That brought back memories. Starling rose unbidden, the late discussion when he had told her the truth about Raspail. His comment about a straw in a doodlebug hole. Yes, a metal rod would have looked rather interesting in the moonlight, wiggling in that white light. A few minutes on that image, picturing it, but all he could see of the killer was a shadow form. He opened his eyes, taking in a deep breath of the warm air, nostrils flared. 

He was at the top of the hill once more, and something compelled him to walk tot he next hilltop and not back tot he parking lot where the rented BMW sat, waiting. His instincts proved to be on the mark as he turned on the hilltop, taking in the panorama before him, he was rewarded with an extraordinary sight. 

A lithe woman in a dark blue pant suit was making her way up the first hill, pausing there at the top just as he had, staring down at the indentation below. A few moments more, and the second woman, which made his breath hitch momentarily, came up the slope behind her, looking down with her partner. The obviously younger one headed down into the slight valley first, practically skipping down the incline. She stopped by the spot and knelt, looking from the ground, back up to her partner. There was a conversation, and despite his exceptional hearing, he could not make it out over the passing vehicles and the wind, which had shifted direction and carried their voices away from him. The trill of a cell phone was clearly audible, and his little Starling lifted a phone to her ear. A strong gust came up at that moment, and auburn hair was whipped around her face. 

Her body language was marked with agitation as she turned back to the parking lot, abandoning her partner. The younger agent was brushing her knees off as she stood, moving back up the hill. He watched her, amazed at how similar she was to Clarice. Lindsey, his mind provided as he looked at her. Lindsey Singleton. She turned then and locked eyes with him. Agent Singleton glanced towards her partner then started up the hill. HE didn't move, just looked about as if he were admiring the view. She smiled at him as she reached the crest, brushing a few stray tendrils from her face. Her eyes were startling in their clarity and depth, lapis lazuli in color. 

"Hello." she offered, looking down to the valley from her new vantage point. "Bit windy out here, isn't it?"

"That it is." best to play it out. He looked at her, head titling slightly as if he were trying to remember her from somewhere. "Do I know you?"

Her grin was only polite, "I don't think so."

"Oh. You look familiar. Oh wait, you were on the news the other night. One of the FBI agents on the Hannibal Lecter case." her reaction was exceptional. The eyes darkened and the jaw clenched slightly. Her tongue peeked between her lips for a moment, relaying her displeasure. So she didn't like the media. Something to keep in mind.

"Yes."

"And one of the murders happened here, didn't it? The biker, if I remember correctly."

"Yes." she looked down and then back at him. His voice was so strange, as if it wasn't in a constant state of use. For all outward appearances, she would assume that he was no more than an elderly gentleman out for a midday hike, nothing more harmful than that. Something buzzed slightly in the back of her mind but she brushed it aside. A sharp whistle drew her attention to where Clarice waved her down. A momentary glare, and she began to make her exit from the gentleman, but not before he spoke again.

"Is that your partner?" 

"Yes. Sir, if you'll excuse me."

"I've never met an FBI agent before. It was quite an honor. I do hope you'll catch the guy." she smiled as she stepped away.

"So do we, sir. If you'll excuse me." and she was gone, trotting back down the hill, hair flashing in the sun.

"A pleasure to meet you, Special Agent Lindsey Singleton." he murmured as he watched her climb into an obviously modified Ford Crown Victoria. From the way the sedan sat, and the sound of the engine, it could quite possibly be a current or former police cruiser. Heavy duty suspension, reinforced body, super charged engine. Oh yes, something that would be able to handle abuse if it came to that. Something else to remember. He strolled back to his Beemer after the Crown Vic was out of sight, hands clasped behind his back. Clarice and the new one, this could prove fun.

*****

"Who was that up on the hill?" Clarice asked, raising her voice over the wind that roared in through Lin's open window. Lin fingered the button and the motor hummed as the window slid upward, she glanced over to Clarice as she slowed to a stop at the light. 

"Huh?"

"The guy on the top of the hill, the one you were talking to. Who was he?" 

"Some guy out for a hike. Elderly, slim, not exactly the tallest guy in the world. He was pleasant enough, and has obviously been keeping up in the coverage of the investigation, since he recognized me as a FBI agent he had seen on the news. Nothing unusual, really. Wished us luck on catching the guy." she let all the information out before the light changed again. The Crown Vic crept into the intersection as the turn arrow lit and she turned into the far lane. "His voice was a little odd, like he wasn't used to speaking. Slightly raspy, I suppose you could say."

Clarice nodded and chastised herself for the immediate thought that leapt into her head. Surely it had not been Lecter, lots of older men could have raspy voices and slim figures. But still, it was a possibility, and she wouldn't put it past him to come out and taunt them. Taunt her. "Hair color?"

Not even a second's pause as Lindsey supplied the answer. "Dark, greying in places. He wore a ballcap, so I couldn't see his hairline." a breath. "I suppose you want eye color as well."

"Did you see them?" Clarice was intent, trying not to stare at the other agent.

"Dark blue, like a summer storm cloud. Very intense. A thin face, nose a little large, nice cheekbones. Nice lips." she regretted the last two words, and mentally slapped herself for that one. _Yeah, like I need to be looking at guys twice my age. Can't deal with the ones my age, don't need an older one._ A small chuckle from Clarice proved that she wasn't the only one with thoughts for older men. The only difference was that she didn't go for the cannibalistic ones, unlike her partner. Little did she know whom she had just remarked on. 

*****


	8. Taunt

As I thoroughly get distracted by the Monday Night Football theme. (I desperately need football season to start again. LOL Go Broncos! Woo hoo!!!) Ahem. Now that we REALLY know where my priorities lie. Perhaps I should put on some different music. Otherwise the poor GD is going to be finding himself up at the new Mile High. (Hmmm, now there's an idea, and it'd keep Emily from singing.) Anyhoo, since I'm just too easily amused this eve, I'll stop now and try to finish the chapter. 

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It seemed to be the calm before the storm, as a week without a murder had the city in high suspense. Edgily, people moved about their lives, keeping one eye posted to the media for the sudden alert that he had struck again, and one eye focused on the shadows, in case they were to be his next victim. So far, even with the best on the case from Behavioral Sciences in Washington, there was no recognizable pattern to the murders. They had cross referenced them with the records of Lecter's past victims, hoping that perhaps the new and old victims shared an occupational tie. That came up dry, and it had Clarice shaking her head. Beyond the bodies themselves, there was no link between past and present. They were going to be nearing two weeks here in Colorado Springs soon, and the media was growing hungry. Tiredly, she almost wished that the killer would take out one of the annoying reporters. 

So Clarice sits at the table in her hotel room, sipping a glass of Jack and Coke, feeling the alcohol burn slightly as it flowed down her throat. She knew that next door Lindsey was at the same dead ends. Their relationship was not blooming, and there were days for both women when it was a test not to scream at the other. Lindsey was concocting a profile for the UNSUB, since they had finally come tot he agreement the other night that it was indeed not Lecter. But, Lindsey had pointed out, one of the motives for the murders was to draw Lecter out here. That had caused the most recent argument between them. Clarice didn't believe the doctor would appear in Colorado Springs, knowing of the massive manhunt specifically for him in the area, just out of sheer curiosity. That statement had been met with another of the 'drop dead' looks from Lindsey, who seemed to have mastered the technique of cussing people out with her eyes. No, he would be careful, but he's going to show up here, and he'll bite the big one if the killer gets to him. Then it was Clarice's turn to be pissed. For this _kid_ to tell her that Dr. Lecter himself would become a murder victim of his own copy cat was outrageous. A small part of her mind admitted that Lindsey might possibly have the right grasp on the situation, but still… No, she had to be wrong. Lecter was not going to show up in the Springs, walk right into her arms again. She had lost all trust in the relationship, or lack thereof, after her brash move at Chesapeake.

Another sip of her drink as she massaged the bridge of her nose. She had done a lot of stupid things in her life but that one had to top the list. All because she was obligated to her precious FBI. How many years would have to pass before the thought would stop zinging around her head? A glance at the luminescent green LCD display of the alarm clock indicated that she might like to get some sleep tonight. For all she knew, there could be a murder victim laying in a field right now.

*****

The house on the corner of Madison and Custer would not draw much attention if it did not look as if it had been transported straight from the prairie and onto the lot. The grass is brown from the drought, and it sits a hulking box in the middle of the abducted prairie. Lilacs once lined the east edge of the yard, but had been unkindly removed when the new owner had moved in, along with the pines in the back yard and the hedges that shrouded the porch. It is rather odd to have done away with these view blocking items when the house's occupant is rarely seen, spending his time inside, the windows shrouded by heavy drapes. The yard's perimeter is guarded by a chainlink fence. Come dear one, perhaps we can find our way inside.

The old screen door from the back porch is open slightly, allowing the faint breeze to enter in, along with the variety of nocturnal insects. A few moths cluster around the ceiling lamp in the kitchen, but they are of no consequence to us or him. From the kitchen into the living room now, then right, down the hall. The floors are bare hardwood, so watch your step, they tend to squeak. A light comes from the bedroom at the end of the hallway on the right, opposite the master bedroom. Look inside, dear one.

He sits alone in the middle of the bed, ignoring the photo plastered walls around him. So many pictures. His victims, we know, past and future ones, but they are not his concern right now. His dark eyes are focused on something in his hands, hovering just above the bed's surface. Two photographs, two women. They are remarkably similar in their appearances, one could possibly mistake them for sisters. One photograph is set aside so he can study the other in detail.

Light auburn hair pulled back in a single gold barrette, hanging around her shoulders. Deep blue eyes that draw you into them and refuse to let you escape. Light skin, with a slight spray of freckles across the nose, cheeks, and forehead. Nice high cheekbones. Average height, well toned body; she obviously tries to keep in shape. The bulge under her blazer revealing her sidearm, and her occupation. Her picture is exchanged for the other, which he offers the same inspection.

Darker hair, auburn bordering on brown, pulled into a ponytail that hung almost to the middle of her back. Her eyes are dark blue in color, piercing, very intense. Same coloring as the other woman, but without the freckles. Thin face, but shapely. She shares the same occupation and tell-tale bulge under the blazer as the other woman. He has met them once, and it was clear that there was no love lost between them. Partners because they had to be, not by their choice. She was older than the other woman too, nearing her forties he estimated, while the other was at least ten years her junior. that may be a contributing factor to the tension as well, if the younger one caught onto something the older one didn't. She would want to show the younger one up if that happened, to prove that she was right.

No matter. Their petty differences meant nothing to him. He only needed them to make a statement. The older one had known Dr. Lecter, and that was what was extremely important. 

Quietly, dear one, let us take our leave for the evening. He rises from the bed and leaves the room suddenly, but do not worry, it is not due to our presence. As we slip from the backdoor once more, the cheerful banter of the late night news broadcast carries from the living room. Back through the simmering summer night, down the sidewalk to the constant song of the crickets. A man out for a late night walk with his dog slows as the dog growls at the house. The man tugs the lead to urge his companion along on their walk. It is highly unlikely he knows of the monster that dwells within those dark windows.

*****

It was nearly one am when the phone in Lindsey's room buzzed, startling her from her sleep. She rolled over slowly and looked at the red light on the phone that blinked in time with the rings. Was there some universal force trying to prevent her from getting a good night's sleep? Pulling her hand from beneath the sheets she reached for the phone, nimbly gripping the receiver. She was greeted by a dial tone as she lifted the receiver to her ear. Growling the phone was replaced and Lindsey rolled back over , readjusting the sheets around her. No sooner had she closed her eyes when the phone began to ring again. _For the love of…_ Repeating the same motions as before, she took the phone to her ear.

"Hello?" her voice was groggy from sleep, and she swallowed, hoping that it would help. No dial tone this time, but there didn't seem to be anything else on the other end either. "Hello?" 

"Is this Lindsey?" a man's voice. Low, and sounding too familiar for any real comfort. 

"Who is this?" she was sitting up, alertness working its way into her system. Who would be calling her at this forsaken hour?

"It is Lindsey, then. Good."

Oh, now _this_ was irritating. She tried to concentrate on the phone as her mind tried to place the voice. "Who is this and what do you want?"

A chuckle, low and staticky on the other end. "You know who I am, Lindsey. Let me ask you something. Have you ever thought of dying?"

"Son of a bitch!" she almost ripped the phone from the wall outlet as she jumped from the bed. _How come this keeps happening to me?!_ Lindsey's mind screamed as she scrambled for her cell phone. _Do I have a sign on my forehead or back or something that says 'I love serial killers'?!_ She had to snap her attention back to the phone because the man was speaking again.

"Have you? I'm sure you have, after what Jake did to you. How did it feel to have him come after you, Lindsey? Tied up on the bed with the yellow rope, raped like you were nothing more than a two cent whore? Wish I had been there to see that."

The cell phone was useless, she couldn't use it without abandoning the land line. Her gun was in her hands before she knew it, the phone cradled between her ear and shoulder as she thumbed off the safety, keeping the gun low in a two handed grip. She edged to the door, listening intently to it as the bastard spoke. The words wounded her, and she wanted to kill the guy right then and there. Too bad phone lines don't transfer bullets. "You fucking son of a bitch." she hissed through gritted teeth.

"I am, am I? Everyone is entitled to their opinion I suppose. You still haven't answered my question."

"Neither have you." she was looking out the peephole in the door, seeing nothing in the pastel colored hall.

"Well, I did ask first, but I'm sure you have. You know, I've never killed a woman before, Lindsey."

She froze right then, unable to move as here eyes cut to the wall that her room shared with Starling. What if? She moved quickly to the wall and pressed her other ear against it, listening. Thankfully the walls here weren't exactly soundproof, but there was silence in Starling's room. She backed away and griped the phone hard, turning her knuckles white against it. 

"I'm really looking forward to it. Hope you are too." a pause, and Lindsey waited, not realizing that she was holding her breath. "See you soon." and he was gone. Silence boomed over the connection and the phone was gone from her ear before the dial tone had a chance to sound next. Keys, cell phone, and gun were all grabbed as she flew out into the hallway. A turn on her heel and she lunged at Starling's door, pounding hard on it. She waited anxiously, preparing herself for the worst. It seemed like hours before her partner opened the door, looking less than enthused about being roused from her bed.

"Singleton, do you realize what the hell time it is?" she muttered, before she clued into the look on Lin's face. She was instantly awake then, opening the door and stepping back. "What the fuck is going on?"

Lin stepped in, finally re-engaging the safety on her gun as she spoke. "Fucking bastard called me. It sure as hell ain't Lecter either." she was regaining feeling in her numbed brain now, and she took a deep breath, hoping to stave off the emotional response she knew that would come. 

"What?! How did he find…?"

"Probably fairly easy. Call the front desk of a hotel, ask for so-and-so, either get told 'No, they aren't here' or get connected to their room. Not rocket science, Starling." she headed for the table and chairs, sitting and laying the gun and phone on the table.

"What did he say?"

"Bunch of shit. Asked me if I'd ever thought about dying. Told me that he'd never killed a woman before, but he was looking forward to it. Said he hoped I was looking forward to it too." she ran a hand back over her eyes, she must look like shit.

"God dammit, Lindsey. Have you called…"

"No, I've been off the phone for all of two minutes, Clarice. I was afraid that he had somehow gotten in here and had killed you. He's taunting us."

"But we know he's going after a woman soon, possibly next."

"Not just any woman, Starling. Not next either. Soon."

"Who then?"

Lindsey sighed, knowing that she would sound paranoid if she said it. She knew she was right, though. It would be one hell of a way to get Lecter's attention. "Me or you."

*****


	9. Picture in the Paper

Um, yeah, if we didn't figure it out from Lin's dream, this isn't going to be a flowers and rainbows type of story. Some gruesome stuff happening here folks. Standard gore warning, dear ones. I didn't know this was going to happen until five minutes ago. (Kinda frightening, I was a couple steps ahead of Lin and Clarice, but now I'm looking over their shoulders.) Anyhoo, that said, on to the chapter.

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Nothing is more public than an expression of a private feeling frozen for all time in a photograph.

-Robert U. Akeret

*****

It was in that one moment that Lindsey lost all rational thought. They had another victim on their hands, bringing the total to eight, and they were no closer to catching the killer. That was not what had caused Lindsey's mind to shut down, it was the victim herself. The first woman, found in a downtown city parking garage, laying with her blue and white keycard for entering the garage laying not four feet from her. They would find her prints all over the glass door that led to the bridge that linked the garage to the Plaza of the Rockies North Tower. At the moment she had come forward to look at the body, it had ceased to be a case, and had become personal. Almost to the point of Loren taking her off the case, sending her back to Denver and putting her into protective custody. The grief and pain that surfaced on her face as she looked at the body was captured by the lone news photographer that had been let up. That picture would appear in papers all over the state, and within the week, in national papers, including the tabloids. 

The woman had been found by another employee from her company this morning as she headed for the bridge. She had called nine-one-one on her cell, and had thrown the police back into a tizzy. They knew from Lindsey's warning the other night that he would be gunning for a woman soon. Oddly enough, they almost discounted the murder since it didn't replicate any of Lecter's prior cases. Instead the woman had been raped with an umbrella, which was also found alongside the body. That in itself is disturbing even to the most jaded investigator on scene. More disturbing, especially to Lindsey, is the large headshot of her own face that is literally pinned to the victims face. The woman's hair color is almost the same shade as her own. He chose her because he fit the image he needed, the means to an end.

The image of the young woman on the cold, oily concrete of the parking garage was still forefront in Lindsey's mind when Clarice brought her the paper the next day. The morning and into late afternoon had been spent on the phone arguing, loudly at times, with SAC Loren. After finally ending the conversation with him, gaining his approval and assurance that she would remain on the case, she looked to the paper again. In that one moment, caught forever by the shutter of a camera, was her soul raw and exposed. She knew that the UNSUB probably had his hands on that photograph at that moment and was proud of what he had done to her. That thought sobered her enough for her it finally release the paper from her grip and make it to the bed, where her resurrected memories dogged her once again.

*****

The national attention to the case made both women into overnight celebrities once again. Clarice disliked being in the spotlight while Lindsey absolutely loathed it. She had come very close to punching one reporter, Vicky Forrest from the local ABC affiliate, and had been caught on tape. That incident earned them the nickname of being the FBI's 'Bad Girls', something that Lindsey had called them earlier in the case. Lindsey was a tad bit pleased with the coverage when it wasn't focused on her. She was sure that her point was about to be proved to be correct, and Lecter would appear in the Springs shortly. She was still arguing over that with Clarice, but it didn't matter. She was right. She just hoped that she would get to see herself proven so before the UNSUB came after them. 

She scoffed at that as she looked through hotels' guest lists. So many people staying in this town, and this was only half of the hotels. Clarice had only pulled guest lists from the more upscale places, which had helped slightly, but still made for a miserable task. Clarice sat across from her at the small table, perusing her own half of the stack. Highlighters in hand, marking off any name that might be him. Clarice was doing this not because she believed it would prove fruitful, but so that she could prove Lindsey wrong. Something inside her was bitter about a young agent coming up and proving that she could find Lecter as well as Clarice. It wasn't quite right to be so protective of a sociopathic serial killer. It seemed rather stupid if she stopped to think about it, so she didn't.

Nothing on the pages jumped out at her, and she was working through everything she knew. Lindsey's highlighter squeaked across the paper again as she deposited another paper in the discard pile on the floor. Obviously she wasn't finding anything either. She sighed as she began to look over the list provided by the Embassy Suites, slowly scanning over the names, checking each one against any known alibis as she ran the ruler down the paper as a page guide. One name caught her name, even though for all intents and purposes it didn't fit what she was looking for. The cap of the highlighter was caught between her teeth as she grunted lightly and highlighted the name. Morricone, Petra. Something about it rang a bell, but not loudly enough, it didn't quite fit into the puzzle. She skipped on down the page, pausing once to rub her eyes and sip from the lukewarm can of Dr. Pepper that sat on the small open spot on the table.

Clarice was running down the list from the Broadmoor when she thought she had struck paydirt. Dr. Henry Leeds, she highlighted the name with a quick shot of the highlighter. Her face was a noticeable smirk, and even though it meant that Lindsey had been right, she had found him. HL, he just couldn't resist using his own initials, and Leeds, one of the families of the now long forgotten Red Dragon killer. The killer he had helped out, had turned onto Will Graham. She felt a twinge of sadness at the thought of poor Will, his head appearing in a box on her doorstep. He would be glad to see Lecter brought to justice for the final time. A part of Clarice didn't want to see Lecter caged again, didn't want to go through the motions of putting him there once again. Tough luck, it was her job.

"Find something?" Lindsey was studying her over the hand that held the Dr. Pepper can.

"Dr. Henry Leeds. I'd put money on it that it's him." Clarice grinned triumphantly, and Lindsey merely nodded.

"Great, we'll put the name on our list." she looked back down at her papers, scanning over the names once more.

Clarice couldn't resist. "Have you found anything?"

The highlighter had just comedown and marked another name as she heard the question. "Um, Petra Morricone, name rings a bell, but I don't remember why, and," she looked down at the paper again, reading the freshly highlighted name. "Dr. James Brussel."

_Yeah, right, you've got nothing_, crowed a part of Clarice's mind. She had always been competitive, but had usually squelched that behavior when working with others. Lindsey just seemed to bring it out in her. "James Brussel?"

"Hmmm. Yeah. A psychiatrist from New York in the late forties, early fifties." she had already gone back to her scanning, not explaining any more than that. 

Clarice shook her head and took a look out the window. Night had come and the stars could just barely be seen through the light pollution of the interstate and the surrounding businesses. Another check of her watch gave her the incentive she needed to rise from her chair.

"I'm going to retire, Lin. Wake me if you need anything." the drawl was pronounced as she yawned and the younger woman nodded, not looking up. She was humming something vaguely familiar as Clarice took her leave. Lindsey looked up just as she reached the door, flashing a tired smile.

"Thanks for the help, Clarice. I really appreciate it." Clarice nodded and opened the door. Lindsey ignored the door as the electronic lock clicked as it closed again. Perhaps Clarice had the right idea, to head to bed. Besides, she could finish these in the morning, when her brain was no longer a sodden lump. Carefully, she placed the remaining lists in a neat stack and tidied up the pile on the floor. The light was extinguished and she looked across the parking lot at the hotel down the road. She didn't know someone was standing before their window doing the same thing, looking almost directly at her darkened window.

*****

Petra sat at the table in her small suite, fingers tapping quietly at the keyboard. She paid no mind to the older gentleman who stood before the window, gazing towards the Hampton Inn. His gaze was fixed on the third floor, and unknowingly, on the correct window. He saw the light go out in the window and he remained studying the building. He now knew where his Clarice and her partner were staying. An advantage, since they did not know where he was. Neither did Leigh, for that matter. he had left her with a generous amount of money for the rest of the week, and had covered the suite at the Broadmoor also through the end of the week. 

It wasn't that he hadn't liked the woman, he truly had enjoyed her company and all she had to offer him, but things were getting interesting on the murder front. After what the killer had done with the woman and Clarice's partner, he had given the case his full attention. Whoever was committing these murders was going to receive his attentions, since that appeared to be what he wanted. As for the latest victim, the killer also proved that he knew something of Lindsey's past. Lindsey. The red tongue darted out between the lips. She was so much like his Clarice, but she was much freer in spirit. Everything he knew about her had been gained in the few moments they had stood unknowingly together on the top of the hill. Her name was pleasant on his lips, and he mouthed it to the night outside the window. The noise of a printer made him turn his head, looking at Petra.

"Everything I could find on her, Doctor." she reported, rubbing at her tired eyes. The glasses were supposed to help with the strain of staring at a computer monitor, but she had her doubts on that. She handed over the pages as they came off the printer. Neatly typed facts that she had drawn up from various online sources. Everything anyone had ever wanted to know about Lindsey Marie Singleton was there, and she also had a floppy copy of her report. After the print job was done, the computer was shut down and Petra leaned back in the chair, closing her eyes. Dr. Lecter smiled at her as she yawned.

"You have been very helpful, Petra." He received a half voiced 'Your welcome,' as she yawned again. "I'll look these over in my room." she nodded and rose to escort him to the door. He shook his head at her. "I can find my own way out, Miss Morricone. You should get some sleep." she nodded tiredly and sat on the foot of the bed, watching as he exited the room. She was asleep by the time he reached his own suite two floors above her.

He sat in front of his own window, looking out towards the mountains that were little more than looming shadows in the night. He began to examine Petra's findings, eyeing the small picture from her high school yearbook at the top of the page. 

"Tell me about yourself, Special Agent Singleton. I gather it must be something to know you in private life." he murmured as his eyes left the picture and he began to read. Dr. Lecter was not disappointed with what he learned.

*****


	10. Sinatra on a Rainy Night

It had begun raining early that morning, before sunrise, and the low scudding clouds had obscured the sun's warming rays. The rain was a relief of sorts, slightly lowering the fire danger, and cooling the region. He stood on the banks of the small creek, which still barely held more than puddles. The raindrops splashed in these muddy puddles, spreading concentric ripples over the surface. The rain didn't bother him, as he held a dark green umbrella over his head. He looked down on his latest victim, watching the rain wash the rivulets of blood from the body into the puddles. The man's body seemed to have every conceivable injure inflicted upon him from head to toe. This one should prove disturbingly familiar to more than just Lecter himself. Anyone involved with the Lecter cases knew this one, it was the one that seemed to have made him all the more famous, with exception of the police murders in Memphis. 

He turned on his heel and walked slowly away from the creek, listening to the rain as it fell through the towering pines that lined the Canon. The path was a bit slick from the rainwater so he took his journey down slow and cautious. No sense in falling over the falls and leaving his broken body for the police to find. He felt so good that the end of his game was drawing near, and soon the prized game would be in his hands. After all these years, after trying so hard to garner his attention, and failing. Well, now he would be able to get all the answers from him, since none of his letter had been answered. A few pieces of wet gravel were kicked over the rocky ledge just on the other side of the tall split rail fence that kept people on the path safe. Slowly, Helen Hunt Falls came into view, barely a trickle compared to the normal pulsing flow of snowmelt and rainwater that flowed over the polished boulders. He paused on the bridge in the rain, looking down over the Falls, taking in a deep breath of the cool air. Finishing the trek down was slightly trick on the old, worn stone steps.

He continued down along the road, since his car was parked down at the picnic area. The death of Richard Moore didn't bother him any, death rarely had any effect on him, seeing as he dealt with it all day. It brought a flush to his face as he walked, thinking about how Richard had pleaded through his duct tape. What power there was in death, what a thrill. Surely Dr. Lecter himself had felt no less when he had killed. And soon, he would know what it felt like to be on the receiving end of that knife. That brought a smile to his lips as he reached the car, collapsing the umbrella and sliding into the front seat of the car. The engine started after a few moments of grinding. A broad grin lit his face as he let the car glide down the twisted mountain road, as he passed another car on its way up. Perfect timing, his latest victim would be found before sunset.

*****

Lindsey needed something to get her mind off Jacob, and everything related to him. She had left the stack of hotel lists on the table in her room and headed up to the mall. She was digging through the myriad CDs that were up for sale at Borders. She picked up random CDs, reading the labels and putting them back. She hesitated on one, looking at it, then slowly putting it back down on the shelf. Sighing, she looked for something else, moving down the aisles and looking through other selections. She was drawn back to the CD once again, but set it down. She just couldn't justify herself to buy the CD if only for a couple songs. She settled on an Eric Clapton CD, humming along with remembered song as she took it to the counter. She left the store oblivious to the man that had been watching.

He lifted the CD from its shelf, looking it over and running his fingers over the edge. The fingertips slid over the slick plastic wrap as he felt it, holding it, trying to draw something of her out of it. He was tempted to lift it to his nose, to see if any of her scent was on there. In the air around him it was fading rapidly, but he could still detect it. A small smile flitted over his lips as he took it to the counter. The cashier smiled pleasantly at him as she totaled the purchase and ran his credit card through the scanner. He smiled in return, issuing a quiet 'Thank you' as he stepped away from the counter with his purchase in hand. As he exited the store into the rain drenched parking lot, he saw her again, headed for the dark Crown Victoria, the Borders bag slipped over her wrist, a cup of coffee in the hand. She didn't seem to mind the random splashes of ran that fell on her face. 

He watched her from the sidewalk, watched her as she slid into the driver seat of the car. The parking lot was nearly empty, being so close to the mall's closing time, and he had a clear view of her. He watched her until the she had pulled from the parking lot, then to the exit and out onto the road. He looked from her car to the CD which he had slid from the bag. He really did hope to know her in private life, if she survived the events that were sure to be forthcoming.

*****

Clarice lounged in the uncomfortable tub, surrounded by bubbles as she tried to relax. The day had brought another body to them, one that had struck chords with all involved, and only reinforced the Lecter-ish tone of the case. It had surfaced doubts that it was Lecter committing the murders and not someone else as she had looked down at the prone form in the creekbed. Wound Man. It was a blatant call for attention by the killer, either to prove that it was Lecter himself, on which she was still wavering as she lounged in the tub, or to get Lecter's attention and draw him out. If he drew him out it would be a boon to the FBI, herself especially, to have captured him twice, incarcerated him twice; and this time, he would not leave the prison walls. The FBI agent smiled at this, knowing her strength and incorruptibility. She had proven herself once before in the moment when it counted the most. She had turned a deaf ear to the arguments of her heart, that she loved the man and desperately wanted to be with him, and had focused on the correct intentions of her mind.

As she closed her eyes, that night came back to her. She wondered if he knew how close she had come to leaving with him that night, spending a life as a fugitive, hunted by her own kin, of sorts, from the FBI. So close, when she had seen the heat in his eyes, the way the fireplace made them reach into the depths of her soul. She had offered him solace in her breast, had offered to open her mind to be the home of his sister, and then dashed it all with the effortlessness of dropping a tea cup. She knew the significance of the tea cup, of the irreversibility of its gravity drawn path as it shattered on the ground. How time moved forward, but never backwards, never allowing the shattered mug to reassemble itself. He had tried to reverse time, and found that he was unable to, so he tried to resurrect his lost sister in her. And she had led him on, made it seem that she accepted such notions, and then committed the ultimate betrayal.

Her eyes squinch tightly as she remembers the metallic _click_ as the cuff snapped around his wrist. The immense pain and betrayal that found sudden home in his eyes. The unspoken question of 'Why?' that trembled on his lips as she had offered what was a heartfelt apology.

_"I'm sorry, Hannibal."_

Sorry, and she had almost removed the cuffs, had almost succumbed to her heart's wishes, had almost _kissed _him as he was so securely bound to her. Fate had dashed her own heart to the floor, as the SWAT team burst in. She absently rubbed her wrist as she remembered the pain from when he was forced to the floor, then the handcuffed being removed from her wrist by a black gloved hand, while she did nothing more than watch. That was all she had done since that moment. Through the trial, avoiding his gaze as she had taken the stand to testify against him. Had avoided those eyes when he was sentenced once again. All with the same question on his lips: why? Strangely, he had succeeded in giving her what he had promised at their first meeting, but she wasn't quite sure she wanted her advancement anymore. She sighed heavily and opened her eyes. Time had passed her by without notice as she had lain in thought. The bubbles in the tub were gone now and the water tepid. She drained the tub and toweled herself off, retiring to bed and losing herself to the innumerable replay of the night on Chesapeake, and the bitter taste that resided in the back of her mouth as she thought about betraying Hannibal once again.

*****

Lindsey had stayed out later than she had needed to, after buying the CD and coffee at Borders. She had taken the Crown Vic on a leisurely drive through the city, finally finding herself in Garden of the Gods. The red sandstone rocks towered over her in the parking lot as she stood outside the car, resting against the right front fender, looking up at the clouded sky. She thought about the body they had found that day, how Clarice had suddenly looked as if she once more believed Lecter was the killer. No, their killer had medical knowledge, had a fantasy of meeting Lecter, perhaps _being_ Lecter. _Damned voodoo, that's what you do._ She laughed as she suddenly remembered her sisters comment on profiling. Damned voodoo. She grinned and shivered, feeling a moths wings brush against her forehead. It was growing too cold, too wet for any real comfort. She slid back into the drivers seat and took the Crown Vic back to the hotel.

She felt heavy and tired as she rode the elevator back up to her floor, then slowly made her way down the hall. She stopped before the door marked with a plate reading '328' and withdrew her keycard from the purse. As she looked down she saw the white paper package that leaned against the door. Wonderingly she picked it up, reading the fine script that spelt out her name in the center of the envelope. She shrugged and inserted the card into the reader in the door and turned the handle as she pulled the card out. Something tickled at the back of her mind as she dropped her purse on the dresser once inside the room, taking the package to the bed with her. Seated cross-legged, Lindsey pulled at the flap on the envelope, feeling the heavy weight of the paper. Fine, smooth, linen weave perhaps. A single sheet is withdrawn, and she reads the same script on it, wondering.

_Special Agent Lindsey Singleton,_

Perhaps this will help you pass the time as you work on the case. I do hope you will catch him soon.

Sincerely Yours,

H

The next morning she decided that it was due to her tired mind that she didn't find it odd to be receiving packages from unknown persons. It had to be the man on the hill from the other day, seeing as he had said something similar then. Nimble fingers pulled at the white paper, and she let out a small gasp as she saw the contents. The CD she had set back down in the store, she turned it over, looking at it as if it would disappear if she blinked. She tested her theory, closing her eyes and opening them again, it was still there. She tugged at the plastic wrap of the CD, finally tearing it and disposing of it in the trash can. She put it in the portable CD player that sat on the table next to the bed before going to change into her pajamas. She came back, and hit play on the little player as she slipped into bed. She drifted off to sleep with images of the man on the hill and the wonderful voice of Frank Sinatra in her brain. Little did she know who she was dreaming of.

*****


	11. Who Are You?

Lindsey literally threw the neatly typed report into the backseat as she pulled the door to the Vic open. She was grumbling as she dropped into the driver's seat, belatedly remembering to unlock the doors so that Clarice could get in. All that work last night, everything she had put into this case, and they had _laughed_ at her. Even when Clarice had backed her up that it was not Dr. Hannibal Lecter they were looking for. Goddamnit! What did it take to convince them? The guy neatly wrapped with a bow on his head on their doorstep? Probably so. Lindsey snapped her seatbelt into place and floored the Ford as she took it out of the parking lot of the Police Operations Center downtown. Clarice certainly seemed to be taking this better than she was, perhaps wisdom really was gained with age. Lindsey barely noticed when her passenger leaned into the backseat and retrieved the discarded profile. She readjusted her seat belt and flipped through the pages. She ignored the scenery as it flew by, Lindsey piloting the sedan onto the interstate.

Clarice wouldn't admit it unless she had too, but the kid was good. She almost certainly lived up to the reputation that preceded her into the case. There had been whispers back at Quantico, even down in the basement, that Lindsey was the best profiler to come along since Will Graham. Clarice read the handwritten page of notes that Lindsey had left in her report. The small tight printing was a little difficult to read as she took the curve in the road, but the car soon began to slow, having ht the start of rush hour traffic. The profile the kid had compiled was pretty much on the mark to Clarice's eye. Male, between his thirties and forties, single. She had decided that he most likely lived alone, was probably a private man, leaning more towards a house rather than an apartment. Had medical experience, and was most like employed in a job in the medical field. He had known just how to duplicate Lecter's murders, had been clean about the surgical cuts and the removal of organs. He was obsessed with Lecter, wanted to meet him, have contact with him. 

Lindsey looked over as the traffic slowed, her anger dissipating slightly, looking over Clarice's shoulder for a moment as the older woman read her handwritten notes.

Nice. Lindsey had note in the margin about possible letters written to Lecter, that they should try to get them. If the guy had written and received no response, and if he were dedicated enough o Lecter, he would probably do just what he was doing. This man could be a stalker, if her knew where Lecter was. Drawing him into the city, so he could finally meet his idol, possibly even _become_ his idol. Clarice didn't like that thought. As much as she wanted to see Lecter behind bars, logically that was the correct thing to want, she did not want to see him dead. She shook her head, flipping back the front pages of the report and laying it in her lap.

"What?" asked Lindsey, her voice tight.

Clarice looked over at the young woman. _Bit paranoid, isn't she?_ "Nothing. I think its good, Lin. If it means anything, I think you're right about the guy."

Lindsey gripped the steering wheel and watched the creeping traffic ahead. "I'd better be right. Damned guy called me, killed a woman and put my picture on her face. It's a bit personal, Clarice."

Clarice nodded in silence, knowing that she could say nothing to appease her at the moment. It took them nearly forty minutes to reach the Woodmen exit and return to their hotel. Clarice didn't notice when Lindsey had stopped at the front desk, checking messages. She did notice when she appeared next to her at the elevator, the heady perfume of roses filling the air. Clarice turned to look at Lindsey, staring in amazement at the huge bouquet of deep red roses that filled the vase.

"Wow. Who are those from? Boyfriend?" Clarice leaned over right before the elevator doors opened and took a deep whiff of the roses nearest her.

"I'm single." Lin replied absently. They moved aside as a slim dark haired woman stepped out of the elevator. Neither FBI agent noted the look of surprise in the woman's eyes or how she kept looking back at them until the elevator doors closed them from view. Shaking her head, the petite woman continued out the door and to the parking lot. She slipped into the rented T-bird, and grinned as she started the engine. If he had gone to the trouble of getting her roses, he really had to like the girl. 

*****

Lindsey was still staring at the roses as she came out of the bathroom in her hotel room. The sat in the dresser, reflected in the mirror and filling the room with their fragrance. She went over and pushed gently through the blooms, and finally found what she was looking for. She retreated to the edge of the bed and opened the small, white envelope. There was a card with a rainbow printed on it, the words 'Thinking of You' were superimposed on it. Her hopes of who had sent them were dashed as soon as she opened the card.

_Loved the picture, Lindsey. _

She looked just like you.

He knows you. But he doesn't love you like I did.

Jacob

With an aggravated growl she threw the card across the room. Was she a designated torture victim for God or whoever was up there? As she fought back tears she grabbed the vase and the roses and carried them over to the trash can that sat by the table. With all her might, she slammed the vase into the trash can, and was rewarded with the sound of shattering glass. Water splashed out over the rim of the trash can, onto the beige carpet of the floor, along with a couple pieces of glass and a rose. She plucked the chunks of glass up and dropped them into the can to joint he rest of the shattered vase. She wasn't thinking as she took the rose in hand, and bit back a curse as the sharp thorns cut her palm. She was headed to the bathroom to retrieve a washcloth to tend to her now bleeding hand when there was a knock on the door. 

"Coming!" she barked at it, dropping the offending flower into the others. She held her hand, peering at the wounds as she stepped towards the door. What else could go wrong this afternoon? She peered through the peephole and saw Clarice standing there. She undid the locks with her left hand, ignoring the blood that was beginning to pool slightly in her cupped right.

"I heard a crash, are you okay?" Clarice looked on edge, and it didn't help when she saw the blood in Lindsey's hand. "You're bleeding."

"Thanks for pointing out the obvious." she closed the door behind the other agent as she entered the room. Lindsey stepped into the bathroom and grabbed a hand towel, wrapping it as a temporary bandage around her hand. She stepped out to see Clarice looking into the trash can.

"Um, is there a good reason as to why they're in the trash?"

Silently, Lindsey handed her the card and sat in the bed, nursing her hand. Clarice read it and let out a quiet 'Wow.' Lindsey wasn't close to tears anymore, she didn't know what she was. So many emotions coursed through her at the moment. This case had only been one bad memory after another.

"You should tell SAC Loren about this, Lindsey." Lindsey waved it off.

"No. I'll get ripped off the case and thrown into protective custody. And with the way things are going, he'll get to me before you guys can get to him. Not going to let that happen."

Starling nodded. She could understand, but she wondered if the kid had a death wish. The guy was obviously gunning for her, but Clarice didn't quite know why. For all logical reasoning, if the guy wanted Hannibal, he'd be coming after her, right?

"Your ex-fiancé knows him."

"Yeah. That narrows it down to only about a hundred people."

"With medical experience?"

"Okay, perhaps ten, then. Ten, between doctors, nurses, and other people in hospitals." She looked sidelong at Clarice. "But last time I checked, none of them were in Colorado."

"It's worth a shot. Do you remember any names?" Clarice watched as Lindsey unwrapped the towel and looked at her hand. 

"No. I didn't really know any of his friends. Met them in passing, but I had more important things on my mind at that time. Little did I know that he was going to be the more important thing in the end." she laughed bitterly. 

"Just trying, Lin." Clarice shrugged, and Lindsey rose from the bed. She took the hotel list from the table.

"We need to find Lecter, before the damned UNSUB does."

Clarice took the paper and looked at the three remaining names. They'd put this off for a couple days, and this was all that was left for them to do to find Lecter. "I'll take the one at the Broadmoor." she offered, still wanting to taste the thrill when she cornered Lecter on her own. Lindsey nodded, pointing a finger at the other names.

"I'll handle the Embassy Suites, then. I really don't think he's going to be at the Broadmoor, Clarice. No offense, but he wouldn't be that blatant." that raised Clarice hackles and she immediately adopted an 'I'll show you' attitude.

"I know him, Lindsey, personally. I don't care how much praise you may be getting back in your office or in DC, but you don't know the first thing about Hannibal Lecter." she was headed towards the door before Lindsey could react. She paused to unlock the deadbolt at the door, and turned when Lindsey called her name.

"Well, then take the car. I'll walk." she tossed the Keys to the Ford to Clarice and turned away to the window. She knew Lecter wouldn't be there, but there was nothing she could do. Hopefully, Clarice would figure that out before Lindsey managed to get herself in over her head. 

*****

Petra grinned as she stepped into her room, dropping her purse and walking through the small sitting area. She found Dr. Lecter in her bedroom, looking out the window. She had run a few errands since leaving the Hampton Inn down the road, grabbing some groceries and filling the Thunderbird up before coming back to the Embassy Suites. He slowly turned to look at her as she set her shopping bag on the table. She grabbed an apple out from the top of the bag and took a bite from it before she spoke. The fresh scent of the fruit filled the air.

"Nice roses you sent her, Doctor." she grinned even more broadly and waggled the apple at him. He blinked at her and shook his head, a bit of confusion in his eyes.

"What roses, Petra? And whom did I send them to?"

"The other FBI agent, the young one, Lindsey. She had a huge bouquet of roses waiting for her when she got back to the hotel. Saw them when I got off the elevator. I assumed…"

"Never assume, Petra." he cut her off. Someone had sent the woman roses, how interesting. It had him curious, but he could deal with that curiosity when he returned to his own suite, where he could think in silence. He had been using Petra's computer while she had been out, running her errands and completing some others for him. "Did she show Clarice the note?"

Petra, who was still slightly surprised that the roses weren't from him shook her head. "I don't think so. Took me a bit to find it, but she had it tucked away in one of the dresser drawers, under her pj's. The CD was in her player." she paused and took another bite of the apple. "Really, doctor, when I met you I didn't think I'd be playing spy for you."

He smiled at her and winked. "Ah, but you do it so well. Petra…" he stopped as there was a knock at the door. Petra froze in mid-bite and looked at him, slowly lowering the apple from her lips. Another knock came before she could move or formulate a reply. A voice accompanied the knock, muted partially by the door and the distance between the bedroom and the door.

"Petra Morricone?"

She dropped the apple on the table, and tried to remain calm as she walked to the door. She had an uneasy feeling that the Doctor was armed and would not hesitate to kill the unannounced visitor if he felt it needed to be done. She heard the closet door open and shut as she crossed the sitting area.

"Coming!" She carefully undid the locks, pulling the door open with the chain lock still engaged. "Yes, can I help you?" She found herself looking at the face of the FBI agent they had just been discussing. _Speak of the devil…_

"Petra Morricone?" the woman asked, she had a couple bandages on her right hand as she pulled a badge wallet from her purse.

"Yes."

"I'm Special Agent Lindsey Singleton from the FBI. I was wondering if I could talk to you for a moment." She opened the wallet, displaying her badge and ID as she spoke, Petra nodded, reaching up to the chain and sliding it loose.

"I can see from your ID. Sure, come on in. Mind if I ask what this is about?"

Lindsey nodded and stepped into the sitting room, gaze sweeping over the area as she answered. "We're looking for a fugitive, and I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions."

Back in the bedroom Dr. Lecter drew in a sharp breath as he heard the conversation taking place. This was a situation he very much didn't want to be in. The Harpy which had been in his hand was closed and returned up his sleeve. Perhaps it would be best to wait a bit and listen to what she had to say. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the door, breathing quietly.

*****


	12. Into The Lioness' Den

Petra was tense as she slowly took a seat opposite the one she offered to the FBI agent, folding her hands in her lap in what she hoped was a calm manner. Her mind was racing, trying to decipher how, exactly, Lindsey could have picked her out of this entire hotel as someone who may know anything about Dr. Hannibal Lecter. She knew her charade would be spotted as soon as she saw a picture of the doctor, her eyes would give her away, no matter how much she controlled her body language. Feeling like she was beside herself, watching as a spectator, Petra watched herself give a lovely performance. For all outward appearances, she seemed to know nothing of the sociopathic psychiatrist. All she knew of him, was from the books her mother had written. She watched this woman, younger than her, asking questions, and seemingly accepting her answers. Perhaps Petra had learned something from the doctor over the past six years. Special Agent Lindsey Singleton was rising from her chair, thanking Petra for her time, and was about to leave when everything fell apart.

The creek of the door in the bedroom was unmistakable and unable to be covered in the dead silence that now filled the suite. Both women immediately looked to the closed bedroom door, one with full knowledge of who was in there, the other very, very interested on finding out more. 

"Miss Morricone, is there someone else in here?" Lindsey asked, causing the petite woman's head to turn back to her. Petra didn't lie, completely.

"Err, yes. My, uh, boyfriend. He was resting when you showed up. I thought it best not to disturb him." she finished with a sheepish smile, shrugging lightly. Lindsey looked as if she didn't buy a word of it. She remained polite, though, as she took a step away from the chair and towards Petra.

"May I speak to him? Just the same routine questions I asked you." 

"I don't think that's a good idea…" Petra replied, backing slightly towards the door. She wasn't prepared for this eventuality. Why hadn't he stayed in the damn closet?! God, if he came out that door, everything would go to hell in a handbasket, FedEx, if you please. Lindsey was standing her ground, watching the retreating figure of Petra Morricone. She hadn't twitched since taking that step forward, and looked to be all business now. _Remember, she's the one with the gun,_ Petra's mind chattered nervously at her, and somewhere else in there came back with a reply; _Yes, but you've got a cannibal with a knife behind that door._ It took a great effort not to snicker at that, she felt her hand touch the cold metal of the door knob, closing over it.

"Let me check with him." She twisted the knob and began to open the door. Lindsey came forward another two steps, almost causing Petra to panic. All she could see of the room was the edge of a bed and out the window, looking towards her own hotel down the street. Petra was closing the door slightly behind her, calling out in a steady voice.

"Honey? There's an FBI agent here who'd like to talk to you." 

Petra did not know that Lindsey had stepped forward to the door, and had one hand on the knob and the other held her gun. Unfortunately, Lindsey did not know what was about to hit her as she pushed on the door slightly.

*****

Petra was staring nervously at him as she stepped into the bedroom, closing the door partially behind her. Her stomach was rapidly tying itself into knots as she looked up at Dr. Lecter, who was motioning her to be quiet with a finger laid against his lips. He heard Lindsey's quiet footsteps as she neared the door. Curious one, wasn't she? There was the tiniest of creaks from the door as she grasped the knob, the action pushing the door inward slightly. In turn, after gently moving Petra out of the way, he took hold of his own side of the door knob. Lindsey must have felt the resistance because the door stopped its inward swing. It took but a moment for her to push again, and he made his move, hand firmly grasping the knob as his other hand came up of its own accord.

"Miss Morricone? I…" the cool, polite tone quickly disintegrated into a shrill yelp as the door was yanked open, causing her to lose her balance. Before she could recover, Dr. Lecter had grasped her arm and had pulled her into the room. Allowing the momentum of his step backwards and the pull on her arm to carry her, Lindsey was flung none too gently onto the bed. Twin maroon orbs watched her roll ungracefully off the bed and onto the floor on the other side. She obviously had good training as she came back up within a few moments of her unceremonious landing. The gun had been knocked from her grip as she had been pulled into the room, and she was gathering herself to lunge back across the bed for it when Petra went at her. 

Hannibal Lecter was already on his way out of the room when Petra lunged across the bed. He had to get out of here before he could be apprehended. Quickly, he made his way to the elevators, returning to his room to grab essential items and leave. Clarice couldn't be far behind, it had surprised him that she hadn't been here in the first place. She could possibly be checking the room at the Broadmoor, he had been a bit blatant on his part with that name. It was surprising that he had lasted so long under it before someone finally caught on. Trust Fate to make that someone be his Clarice. If Lindsey had found Petra, which seemed to be a fluke more than anything else, it stood a good chance that his alias here was the next on her list. That one had been clever, but from what he had learned in the past couple of days, Lindsey was very wise and quick for someone her age. So much like Clarice.

He was packed and gone from the hotel by the time the dark blue Crown Victoria had pulled into the parking lot, Clarice practically running from the car and into the hotel. 

The scene Clarice found upon reaching Petra's room would have been comical if it weren't for the circumstances. It was straight out of high school, as the two grown women grappled in the middle of the bedroom. Lindsey had her hand firmly twisted in Petra glossy raven mane, while the shorter woman was clawing and slapping at Lindsey. Lindsey managed to get some kind of leverage and pushed Petra onto the bed, releasing a hand and groping for her handcuffs. Petra took advantage of this and slapped back at Lindsey, pushing her back from the bed and lunging off it. Clarice was almost fully across the sitting area as Petra tripped after leaving the bed. Lindsey was lunging after her, handcuffs out and raised in her hand as she threw herself to tackle Petra. Clarice could do little more than watch as both her partner and the not-quite-subdued Petra fell hard to the floor. 

Lindsey finally managed to get the cuffs onto Petra's wrists and she sat back, kneeling over her captive. She brushed the hair from her face and looked up at Clarice, who was still having a hard time not laughing.

"So what have you two been up to?" Clarice asked, watching as Lindsey stood and tugged Petra up next to her. A look of distaste crossed Clarice's face as she got a good look at Petra for the first time. "Do I know you?"

Petra shook her head, "No. You know my mother, Jane Morricone. I do know all about you, though, Special Agent Starling." She was trying to remain polite, even with her hands cuffed uncomfortably behind her back, and a red welt forming on he cheek.

"Who was in the room with you, Miss Morricone?" Lindsey asked, staring into the emerald eyes that didn't waver.

"A friend. Dr. Brussel if you must know." she shook her head, tossing her hair back out of her face. Lindsey made a face as she looked up at Clarice.

"How did you make out?" Lindsey asked, taking a step towards the bedroom door, releasing her grip on Petra. 

"He's gone, checked out a few days ago. Left his girlfriend there, but she didn't know who he really was. Unlike Petra here." Clarice narrowed her eyes as she stepped forward, took Petra's arm, and sat her in a chair. "Right, Miss Morricone?"

Petra looked away, ignoring the question. Clarice watched as Lindsey came back out with her sidearm and purse, making a beeline for the door. She glared at Petra momentarily as she passed.

"Where are you going?"

"Brussel's room. Ten to one, though, he's already gone." she looked back over her shoulder as she unlocked the door. "Coming?"

Clarice helped Petra ot her feet once again before she replied. "Sure, and then we'll have a nice little chat."

*****


	13. In the Still of the Night

Okay, after all the delays, here's the next chapter. This one is for you Steel, to meet your story requirement. The next chapter, I'm afraid, will be really slow in coming, since I'm going to be gone and offline for the rest of the week. Graduations for my brother and two cousins, which translates into Road Trip! LOL I'll work on the chapter while I'm gone, so hopefully this trip will prove fruitful. Tootles and take care, dear ones!

**************************************************************************************

If I knew you and you knew me,

If both of us could clearly see,

And with an inner sight divine,

The meaning of your heart and mine,

I'm sure that we would differ less,

And clasp our hands in friendliness;

Our thoughts would pleasantly agree

If I knew you and you knew me.

-Nixon Waterman

*****

Clarice stood in the parking lot outside of the Hampton Inn, watching the traffic pass on the interstate and the construction crews that were laboring far into the night. Her room had become suddenly too small and stuffy for her to stand much longer, so she now stood in the night, trying to think. Lindsey was probably still fuming about this afternoon, if Clarice knew anything about the young woman. She had made her opinion loudly known when Clarice had released Petra, not charging her with anything at all. Clarice had explained her reasoning, that Petra was the only one who might possibly know where Dr. Lecter would go next. With that possible knowledge, they could follow Petra and find the doctor. Lindsey grudgingly accepted the explanation, but remained unhappy with Petra getting off practically scot-free.

So now she stood in the half light as the sun sank behind the mountains, leaving the sky fading slowly to a dusky pink. She looked at the few clouds that hung over the mountains and wondered what the last time she had stopped to watch a sunset had been. Not in quite some time, as life no longer afforded her those simple pleasures. Feeling the need to move, to get some fresh air into her body, perhaps clear her mind a bit, Clarice walked across the parking lot. There was a path up the street a little ways, and she reached within a few minutes, finding herself in an almost deserted parking lot. Sticking her hands in her pockets she began walking along the gravel path, alone with her thoughts and the coming night. 

It was nice to walk, and leave her problems behind for a little while. Her life had lost something when she no longer indulged in these simple pleasures. She was some ways down the path when she paused to look at her watch and then gaze at the sky. The moon above was a thin, waxing crescent, just coming up out of the eastern sky. She knew she had no flashlight and that she shouldn't be out on a path alone in the darkness. She turned and began her walk back to the parking lot, breathing in the cooling air. It was a fresh smell, although the proximity to a main road and the interstate did mix in some gasoline and diesel scents, it wasn't really that noticeable. Clarice listened to the crickets as she walked, and at one point watched as a fox slipped across the path ahead of her. 

Her gaze drifted up to the sky once more, seeking out constellations her father had taught her in her youth. Dark indigo sky reflected in the depths of her pupils, scattered with pinpricks of starlight. The moon no more than a sliver at the edge of the pool in her eyes, as she looked heavenward. Her steps slowed on the path as she stared upward, entranced by the simplicity of looking, the complexity of what she was seeing. One step, foot settling back to the gravel, two steps, and her feet caught beneath her, gravity inexorably pulling her downward as she lost her balance. View of sky swiftly shifting through the darkness around her and then to peach colored gravel hard on her cheek. She lay there for a moment, taking in a deep breath of dust clouded air.

"Are you okay?" she felt a warm hand snaking around her arm, gently assisting her to her feet. She brushed the peach colored dust from her pants as she rose. The hand remained firm on her upper arm, and she didn't seem to mind it at the moment. Tossing her hair back out of her face she turned to look at her Good Samaritan.

"Yes, I'm fine, thank you. Just a little…" Clarice's words died in her throat and her eyes widened like saucers as she came to a full realization of her Samaritan's identity. Her first instinct was to run as she saw his face in the pale moonlight, his unearthly eyes as he stared at her. There was the faintest smile on his lips, just enough to make any grown man paranoid. His name left her in a rush, as she took a step backwards. 

"Dr. Lecter."

"Very good, Special Agent Starling. Or should I address you as Clarice, seeing that you currently are not on duty?" his voice cut above the crickets, chilled her to the bone as she stood there in the night with him. She could not formulate a reply, doing nothing more than try to stop gaping at him.

"We'll stay with Clarice." he smiled gently, head titled and the faintest sheen of the slicked hair in the light of the waxing moon. He clasped his hands behind his back, taking a pose not unlike a lecturer. "Lovely evening, isn't it?"

"Yes." Clarice managed, seeing him look to her for an answer. her mouth felt as if it had been stuffed with cotton. Idle chit-chat with a convicted murderer, a true sociopath, and a man some people would claim she loved. Right. She should be taking him down right now, not talking to him. _Take him down with what, Starling? Just a bit weaponless at the moment, girl._

"I'm not here to hurt you, Clarice. I would never hurt you willingly." Her stare hardened as she looked at him. Was he psychic or something, or was she just that transparent? 

"Very reassuring." she muttered. Having finally gotten over her surprise she turned to walk away. She had no way to bring him in right now, and she would feel safer back in her stuffy room rather than out in a field with Hannibal Lecter.

"How's the case going, Clarice? Any closer to finding your man?" Dr. Lecter queried her back as she walked away. She didn't react. "I can help you find him." his words rang soft in the July night, and he received just the reaction he was wanting. His Clarice stopped in the midst of the path, paused for a moment, then turned to him, head turning to sight him first as her body followed.

"I don't need your help, Dr. Lecter." she spoke in a tone that carried steel in it, cold and hard. 

"Really, now, Clarice. How many more will die before you catch this man? How many more _lambs_ will be led to the slaughter before you stop him? Hmmmm?" She was within a step of him now, and he could see the anger sparking in her eyes. 

"Stop it."

"Afraid, Clarice? Come now, I'm sure Lindsey isn't afraid." he paused, watching her reaction, watching the indignant look in her eyes.

"You don't know the first thing about Lindsey." she bit out, glaring at him, preparing to turn away. 

"She looks so much like you Clarice. She has the same intensity in her eyes." she was stepping away again, and he was the patient fisherman. He let her run the line out again, than pulled back on it. "She doesn't smell like you though." the red lips curled into a self satisfied smile as he watched the chill visibly run through Clarice's body.

"Lecter…"

"On the hill, Clarice. You were distracted by your cell phone, but she was interested in the crime scene. Within arm's reach, and she didn't even know who she was talking too."

Clarice stood stock still, thinking back on Lindsey's description in the car afterwards. Why hadn't she seen it then? Why hadn't Lindsey? The last question was said aloud without her knowledge, and it surprised her when Dr. Lecter responded.

"She wasn't looking for me, Clarice. When you don't go out of your way to draw attention people don't go out of their way to notice you."

"I recognized you." Clarice protested, although her voice was not as firm as she would have wished it to be.

He smiled at her, and his calm was maddening. "You and I are intimately acquainted, dear Clarice. I should think that you would recognize me anywhere if you were looking."

"But your voice, she should have recognized your voice."

Lecter shook his head, bowing it slightly as he spoke. "You forget again, Clarice, that she is not as intimately acquainted with me as you are. Surely the fellows in your basement would recognize me without a moments hesitation, but they have been listening to me for years now. Lindsey, has not."

Clarice felt her hands bunch into fists as he spoke. "Dammnit, Dr. Lecter." She didn't know what to do. So close, yet so far away. As she stood there, seething in her own mind, Lecter closed the small distance between them.

"So what are you going to do, Clarice?" He was inches away, and she hadn't been this close to him since the fateful night on Chesapeake. She could do nothing as her head and heart warred it out as she watched him. "Are you going to take my life from me?"

A croaked "No." came in reply, as Clarice was suddenly aware that she was holding her breath.

"Ah. My freedom then? Place me back in a cage for the rest of my God-given days? Perhaps another cell in a dungeon somewhere else, without a window and nothing more than a closet door and a wall to look at?"

"Dr. Lecter…" _You're a murderer and you deserve to be in prison, but I would rather you be in bed with me._ Yeah, that was _just_ what needed to be said. She gulped, feeling his warm breath on her face, those eyes delving into her depths. He knew her as well as she knew herself, and there was no escaping that. She was not prepared, as his maroon gaze held hers, for what happened next. Something she had not thought about feeling since the moments after she had snapped the cuffs on him, taking his mouth from her breast, banishing any notion of trust from their relationship.

His lips were warm and soft on hers, gentle and insistent. _Nice lips._ Lindsey's all-too-correct comment flitted through her mind as he kissed her. And yet, she could do nothing more than stand there, unmoving, even with her heart and soul screaming for her to react. He pulled back all too soon, after brushing his nose against her cheek. He met her eyes and watched the conflicting tumult of emotions he had not seen in so long chase across her features.

"Clarice?"

The breath in her voice was shaky as she replied, a single tear once more betraying her and sliding down her cheek. A diamond caught in the moonlight, another image of his cub caught forever in his mind and placed with reverence in her room in the palace. 

"Not in a thousand years, Hannibal."

*****


	14. Revelations

Here I am, back from the family road trip, and quite sunburnt. Remember folks, always wear sunscreen. There was that song for the Class of '99 warning us to wear sunscreen, and I ignored it. The Class of 2002 received no such warning, perhaps they already know this. (I am not impressed with their knowledge though, as I got to watch my brother, in full regalia, walk straight into a door. Here's to the Class of 2002: Beware of screen doors.) But, as I piddle my way around the fact that I have to write this chapter… Oh, and my apologies to the real residents of the house in this chapter. I'm sure you are really nice people, even if you did cut down every living thing on the property. Sorry to have a serial killer take over your residence. Tralala and off we go…

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It was chance. It was luck. It was a twist of Fate that had brought him to the small bookstore that morning. And it was the moment he had been waiting for. He looked into the rearview mirror as he drove, smiling to himself as he rode along at speed on the interstate. What a wonderful day it was, and it was sure to become an even more wonderful night. As he pulled to the off-ramp onto Fillmore and came to a stop at the lights, he cautioned a glance into the back seat, which was not visible to the outside due to the heavily tinted windows. A dark haired man lay bound and unconscious there, covered by a blanket just in case anyone did look in. Really, he looked like he was doing nothing more than napping. All the restraints were hidden underneath the blanket, and there was no need for a gag at the moment, since he was unconscious. The light changed and he rolled through the intersection, heading east. Soon, everything would come to a head.

*****

Lindsey shivered as she and Clarice walked down the coolly tiled hallway that led to the morgue. The air temperature was a bit lower down here, but it wasn't the only thing that was making the goosebumps stand out on Lindsey's arms within the sleeves of her suit jacket. Clarice looked completely unfazed by coming down here, but then she had had the benefit of being a Forensic Fellow and Lindsey had not. Lindsey had avoided autopsies, and morgues, and pathologists as much as she could. Death was not a subject she liked to dwell on, especially after she had come so close to losing her own life. Clarice pushed open the first set of doors into the airlock, holding it open for Lin as she followed. The morgue was in the same color tiles as the hallway had been, a chilling continuity. A lone woman sat at a desk, pecking away at a computer keyboard. Clarice smiled at her as she stepped forward.

"We're looking for Peter Adamowski, do you know where he is?" Clarice was drawing her badge as she spoke, keeping eye contact with the woman. The woman laughed as she took her hands from the computer keyboard.

"Aren't we all?" she replied, and elaborated when she received a confused look from Clarice. "Actually, Pete didn't show for his shift today. No calls, no messages, nothing. No one's heard a whit from him." 

Lindsey's eyes were roving all over the room as Clarice listened to the woman. There was a single wall that had a few framed items hanging on it. Lindsey headed in that direction, staring intently at them. Beautifully done pictures, one in charcoal, another in what looked to be crayon and magic marker. She leaned close to the glass, looking at them, taken in by the detail. A signature in the lower right corner of the pictures caught her eye and she drew in a sharp breath. Clarice was turning to look at her as she turned back to them.

"Where did these come from?"

The woman stood and came over to Lindsey, looking at the framed items. "They're Pete's. He's really into that 'Hannibal the Cannibal' guy."

Lindsey and Clarice shared a look behind the woman's back, the same thought running through both minds. 

"Do you have Pete's address?" Clarice demanded of the woman, who was now staring widely as Lindsey trotted towards the doors leading back to the hallway. She nodded slowly and led Clarice to the desk, where she dug through a door and produced a thin and worn address book. Clarice watched impatiently as the information she had requested was scribbled on a notepad. She was gone before the woman could ask or protest. Everything had just cracked wide open.

*****

1202 Madison Avenue looks even worse in the daylight than it does in the light of the moon. The dryness of the grass is even more evident under the afternoon sun and the absence of any vegetation on the lot. Stark, forlorn, blocked to all outside influences by the heavy curtains. Lindsey followed Clarice up the front walk, to the porch that rested in the shade. There was no doorbell, but there was a brass knocker on the door behind the screen door. Clarice pulled the screen door open, setting a small number of moths free, and reached for the knocker. She had an eerie flash of déjà vu, seeing herself at the doorstep of Jame Gumb's house once again. Lindsey shifted, unbuttoning her jacket and glancing around the dry yard. 

Faintly, footsteps could be heard within the house. The door was without a peephole, so the only way to see who was on the porch, besides pushing the curtains in the front windows aside, was to open the door. Lindsey's head whipped back to the door as it opened slowly. A tall man stuck his head out, looking at Clarice and Lindsey.

"Can I help you, ladies?" he asked, his voice soft and mellow. 

"We're looking for Peter Adamowski. Special Agent's Clarice Starling and Lindsey Singleton, FBI." Clarice showed her badge, and Lindsey did the same, the thought of recognition buzzed in her head as she tried to place where she had seen the man before.

"That's me. Can I help you with something?"

May we come inside, Mr. Adamowski? We'd like to ask you a few questions, about the autopsies on the murder victims." Clarice could see him starting to shake his head and withdraw into the house. She held her breath, praying that it wouldn't come down to a chase.

"Everything's in the reports, Special Agent Starling. There's nothing more I can tell you. If you'll excuse me I have things to tend to."

Clarice still held the screen door open and stuck a foot in the crack of the door, preventing him from shutting it and earning herself a glare. "It will only take a moment, Mr. Adamowski."

Lindsey counted the number of heartbeats between the end of Clarice's question and the answer from Pete Adamowski. She made it to ten, and was surprised when the door opened fully and he stepped aside, ushering them inside.

"Come on in then, but only for a moment."

The interior of the house was cool and dark. The noise of a radio in the kitchen set to the local NPR affiliate carried into the living room. Old wood paneling from when the house was built lined the east wall of the living room, and the north wall was occupied by a beige sofa. He waved the two agent to it and took a seat opposite in an old rattan chair.

"What would you like to know?" he asked, glancing down at his watch, and back to Clarice. He was avoiding Lindsey's gaze and focusing on the older agent. 

"We were wondering why you didn't show up for your shift today. Your coworker seemed concerned when we came down to the hospital."

His eyes narrowed and he took in a breath. "Do you want to know about the autopsies or did the hospital send you down here to find me? Last time I checked, not showing up for work wasn't a federal offense."

"No, sir, it isn't. I was just curious." Lindsey looked at Clarice, who seemed to be fairly calm. As Clarice opened her mouth to speak again Lindsey cleared her throat.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Adamowski, but it seems my coffee from this morning is catching up to me, would you mind if I used your bathroom." she managed to look appropriately embarrassed by having to ask to use his facilities, but he finally looked over at her. He nodded, an odd smile cutting across his face.

"Sure, Special Agent Singleton. First door on the right, down that hallway."

Lindsey rose and nodded her thanks, heading out of the living room and sparing a glance into the kitchen. Nothing unusual, except for the fact that it still sported an avocado green stove and refrigerator. She went down the short hallway, and ducked into the bathroom. A quick examination done very quietly yielded nothing. She found she actually did have to go and completed her business, and washed her hands in the sink. A small locket on the edge of the sink caught her attention and she reached for it with wet fingers. It was engraved with a lacy 'L' and she opened it, a horrible sense of knowing seeping into her brain. A small picture of herself smiled back out at her, although she was eighteen and wearing a graduation cap and gown. The other side held a picture of another smiling graduate, in the same colors, a younger version of Pete Adamowski. Lindsey snapped the locket shut and dried her hands, dropping it into her pocket. She heard a faint _thud_ come through the door to the bathroom but was too preoccupied to react immediately. 

She opened the door and stepped back into the hallway, and casting a glance to the living room, turned the opposite way and reached for the doorknob of the neighboring door. It swung open on oiled hinges revealing a disturbing sight to her. The walls were lined with pictures, so many pictures. Everything from black and white to film slides. Her eyes raked over them and she caught sight of her own pictures staring back at her form one wall. A sharp intake of breath accompanied the thought to call for Clarice. As her mouth opened to speak a loud crash and a screech caused her to whip around. Her eyes widened as she saw Pete quickly bearing down on her, fist lashing out towards her head.

"You're not supposed to see that!" he bellowed as he connected solidly with Lindsey's temple. Her movement to go with the force of the blow did little to lessen the impact and she crumpled to her knees. Satisfied, Pete took off back through the house, running out the front door and down the walk. He easily vaulted the three foot high chain link fence and jumped into the drivers seat of his Chevy Caprice. The old car started with a roar and he floored it, spinning the tires as he pulled into the street. He had almost made it to the end of Madison before he was distracted once again. 

"What do you think you're doing?" a quiet voice issued from the seat behind him and he slammed on the brakes as he heard it. Fortunately he was at the stop sign and had to wait for traffic before he could go. It didn't mean that he had to answer the question though. A quick turn in his seat and a sharp blow to his captives temple resolved the matter. He floored the Caprice once again and flew through the intersection. 

Back at the house Lindsey was pulling herself up from her undignified heap on the floor and rubbing at her temple. Clarice came around the corner and Lindsey moved swiftly down the hall, tugging her car keys out of her pocket. 

"I heard his car take off while I was trying to get out of the corner." Clarice explained, touching her own forehead. A glance into the far corner of the living room gave evidence of a smashed end table. "What'd you find back there?"

"This," Lindsey tossed the locket to Clarice as she trotted out the front door. With luck, and a little bit of speed, they should be able o catch up to him before he got too far ahead of them. "And a roomful of pictures. Lovely, but according to him I wasn't supposed to see that." Lindsey threw the gate in the chain link fence open and headed to the Vic. The Ford started up immediately as Clarice slid into the passenger seat, automatically buckling her seat belt. 

"Can you drive?" she asked, noting that Lindsey had a growing knot on her forehead.

"Sure. I've driven in worse shape than this." she shot a quick grin at Clarice before slamming the Crown Vic into gear and flying down the street. Barely heading the stop sign she pulled a wide turn, sighting the burgundy Caprice a few blocks ahead, headed towards downtown. "Hang on boys and girls, you're in for one hell of a ride." she muttered as she floored the Crown Vic and blew through a red light.

*****


	15. In the Garden of Good and Evil

Wow, you guys are demanding, aren't you? Here, have a fruit roll up. Aren't you gonna eat it? Aw for chrissake! How about a chapter instead? I don't recommend eating it though. Short chapter, but it's a chapter nonetheless. I'll get my butt in gear and abandon my jewelry making for a bit and get up the next one soon. Promise. Enjoy!

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The thin sliver of the waxing moon did little to provide illumination on the ground below, making traversing the uneven landscape. There is silence hanging like a shroud over the grand park, only broken by the steady trilling chirp of crickets and the soft beat of raptor's wings on the air. The Camels themselves are lit from the hill across the road, and moths and other nocturnal insects swarm in the beam. The rocks themselves look as red as they do in daylight with the illumination, catching the eye and providing a striking picture in the darkness. The calm of the night is broken, and the crickets pause a beat, interrupted in their summer song. The roar of an old big block carbureted engine roars up the road into the Garden, reverberating loud against the sandstone. It is followed quickly by another big V-8 engine, this one electronically fuel injected and catching fast. An owl in the trees is the only witness to the chase, its large glowing eyes taking in the parade of vehicles that are following it into the park. The lone light that illuminates the Kissing Camels is no longer the only illumination as strobing flashers atop police cruisers bounce off the rock wall along with the reverberations of their engines and their wailing sirens. The owl's head turns, following the commotion until it is out of sight around the bend. A different sound draws its attention, and it swoops down with grace onto a field mouse in the grass below.

*****

Lindsey was extremely glad for the supercharged engine and the heavy duty suspension in her Vic as she tapped the breaks coming up around the first corner in the park. She heard the tires squeal against the pavement and the car slide. A grimace crossed her face as she held fast to the wheel, body straining against the shoulder belt. She felt sorry for a quick moment, as Clarice was in the passenger seat and had little more then the standard 'Oh Shit' handle above the door to grasp too. The moment didn't last long as the Crown Victoria leapt after the old Chevy they were pursuing. Although she had driven through the park only days ago, Lindsey couldn't anticipate the turns as well as the Chevy's driver did, and that resulted in narrowly missing the guard rail as they came up a short rise into a tight turn. The right front fender grated against the metal noisily, causing Clarice to stare worriedly out the window at the edge of the road that was a bit too near.

"Watch it!" she cried, tense as Lindsey braked heavily completing the turn in time to floor the V-8 and avoid running into a rock wall on her side of the road. A white Acura sat in the parking lane there, the passengers no doubt necking in the darkness. _So much for that, kiddos,_ Lindsey thought as they shot past the Acura, catching a glimpse of a wide eyed couple. The police screaming up the road behind her would get them out of here. Head lights blinded her for a moment as they came up on the turnoff for a small handicapped parking lot. Clarice braced herself as the Vic laid a trail of rubber from the brakes being forcibly stomped on. The Chevy didn't pay them any heed and flew out in front of them once again. Lindsey edged up on his bumper, tapping the Chevy. If she could end this chase without an accident…

The warning tap did nothing to dissuade the driver of the Chevy to slow, or pull over, or do anything that would be logical. The chase continued, winding through the park, doing more than three times the legal speed limit of twenty miles per hour. Lindsey slowed remembering that there was a particularly twisted portion of the road coming up. Their subject did not slow, and amazingly made it through the first turn with only two wheels running off the road. The road dropped sharply into another turn and she knew he was going to lose it even before he entered the turn. Sure enough, the Chevy went straight off the road and into the scrub oak that lined the road. Lindsey slammed on the brakes, screeching to a halt inches from the bumper of the Chevy. The smell of burnt rubber hung in the air as she immediately jumped from the car, gun drawn and up, approaching the Chevy quickly.

Clarice was on the radio telling the police behind them that the suspect had been run off the road, she came up on the passenger side carefully. The door was slightly open, held there by a broken branch caught in it. Lindsey was peering into the empty car, as Clarice did the same on her side of the car.

"God fucking dammit!" Lindsey cried out as she slammed a fist against the roof of the car. There was a rustle in the trees ahead of her and she dove into the scrub oak. 

"The suspect is on foot, I repeat, the suspect is on foot!" Clarice heard her partners angry outburst and looked up in time to see the younger agent go headlong into the darkness. She threw the radio aside without thinking, it landing in the dust in front of the Crown Vic's right front tire. "Dammnit, Lindsey!" There was little she could do but go after her. Damned kid, was she ever this stupid at that age?

*****


	16. In the Darkness

Sorry. The new job has caused me to adjust my schedule accordingly, and I haven't been very productive. But, without further ado, a chapter. And yes, I know I'm evil.

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Lindsey ran headlong into the scrub oak that filled the park, growling and cursing as her blazer caught on a twig and hindered her forward journey. With quick ease she pulled herself from the jacket, which waved limply in the juniper scented breeze. The outstretched arms of the trees scratched at her bare arms, since she had been wearing a tank top beneath the jacket, but she was inclined to ignore the pain. Ahead of her the once single thread of noise from her subjects separated into two distinct paths, one to her right and one to her left. Behind, she could hear the wail of sirens and Clarice's voice cutting above them, slightly winded as the easterner was not used to the altitude. Lindsey ducked her head low to avoid a branch and drove onwards, following the sounds to her right.

*****

The dry wind whipped leaves and bone-dry branches into his line of vision, further impairing it. There was little light to guide him through the brush, yet he pushed on. He had become unconcerned with his former captive, whom he soon split from and headed in another direction. He would want him to find the women later, anyway. More the shock when he saw his darling little Starling laying dead on the ground, and then Pete coming out of the bushes to send him off to join her. So it wasn't the plan he originally had in mind, but he hadn't planned on having the women show up on his doorstep, either. One took whatever was offered to him and made use of it. He suddenly found his way into a small clearing, no more than ten feet across. He paused there, looking about him, stuffing the gun into the waistband of his pants as he surveyed his surroundings. Not much time, he could here someone crashing through the brush almost along the same path he had taken. Pete quickly moved across the clearing and hid himself in the bushes on the opposite side where he lay in wait. The hunted had become the hunter.

*****

The altitude combined with the hot air burned Clarice's lungs, causing her to suck in deep lungfuls of air, more than she normally did, as she followed Lindsey into the scrub oak. For the love of… She plunged after her partner, wondering what she would do if she met up with their prey. For that matter, she only knew of one man they were chasing, yet there were three people ahead of her, crashing through the July night. She heard more than saw Lindsey break off to the right, since she was only a few feet ahead of Clarice. Gritting her teeth and reaffirming her grip on the skateboard tape covered grip of her own gun she took after the path that led slightly left. She made steady progress forward, ignoring the twigs that tried to tangle in her hair. A little bit further, and she could overtake her suspect. Clarice quietly prayed that it would be Pete Conners and not the other someone she had a suspicion was there with them.

*****

Even in the near pitch darkness, Dr. Lecter's night vision was superb. He pushed forward through the branches and the grasses that brushed knee high. He could hear his once captor breaking opposite and slightly ahead of him, and the sounds of the pursuing FBI agents behind him. He had hoped that Clarice would be the one to hunt him, to actually seek him out like a lioness on the savanna. How long he had waited to engage her in such an activity, long before he had decided to bring her into Mischa's place. So long… Now, though, was not the time for such thoughts. He pushed forward through the dry brush, keenly away of the scent of juniper, and the mingling scents of l'Air du Temps and sandalwood oil from the women, carried to him on the wind. He could hear every footstep she took behind him, gaining ground on him, he was aware of every one of his breaths as he neared a break in the trees. Another thought crossed the placid mind as he came through the break, momentarily furrowing his brow as he found his way into a dry creekbed. Which of the agents was pursuing him?

*****


	17. On the way to Heaven

Hyped up on Vanilla Coke (The Official Drink of the Lecterphiles Moderators) and watching SotL. What more does a girl need? A new chapter perhaps? Would that satisfy you dear ones? And in answer to everyone who has brought it up, I promise not to kill Clarice. Thank you all, and good night.

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In recollection, the eternity it had taken Clarice to clear the brush was no more than a few seconds. A few seconds, and everything had gone to hell in a handbasket. A branch snapped back into her face, causing a welt to form across her cheek. Only one more amongst the numerous scratches that covered her face from the trek through the scrub oak. She could still hear Lindsey in the bushes to her right, and every once in a while an obscenity rang out as the younger agent ran into an obstacle. Clarice took in another deep lungful of air as she broke the treeline, finding herself in a small clearing. She paused, looking about her, her right hand resting on the butt of her gun. There was the chirp of crickets from behind her, and on her sides, but there was no sound coming from the tree line directly across from her. 

A few tentative steps are taken, wary as she catches her breath and tries to listen above the roar of her pulse pounding in her ears. A glance down to the soft reddish sand beneath her feet, the tiny puffs of dust escaping from underfoot. The momentary glance was the first error Clarice had made since delving into the bush after her compatriot. Her head snapped up as she heard the sound of a twig snapping, painfully loud to her as her senses instantly sharpened. She brought the gun up, but it was too late. By either fate or the consequences of poor aim in the near pitch blackness, she felt a bullet rip into her thigh. The report carried through the park, and the crickets instantly silenced. As she fell, Clarice was painfully aware of her scream as it rang through the night.

Forty feet away, edging into a creekbed, two figures stopped, looking to the left of their positions. Lindsey immediately forgot about her prey as she took off in the soft sand of the creekbed, heading towards the sound. Clarice's scream severed the night, and only served to spur Lindsey on. She made no effort at silence as she crashed through the creekbed, following the sound of the elder FBI agent's cries. She pushed through the scrub oak as she propelled herself up the slight banks of the dry creek. She winced as her hair was caught and pulled by the branches, and as more scratched at her face. Head dropped, eyes half open, focusing on getting to her partner, she didn't care about the man following her.

*****

Pete dropped the gun in the brush where he stood. He hadn't felt fear when he had killed the others. Nothing of the sort. Although, as he pushed his way deeper into the trees, it wasn't quite fear he was feeling now. Regret, perhaps? For shooting the woman that represented so much in the mythology he'd created. Yes, regret, that had to be it. He heard her cries continuing as he headed away from the clearing. Moments later, he heard the other's voice as she tried to comfort and tend to her fallen companion. He paused for a moment, catching his breath and debating his plan. The game had changed once again. There was a crash in the trees behind him, along the route he had just taken. He had to decide. Now. He took off running again, and was rewarded fro his efforts moments later.

*****

Lindsey had found herself in the clearing, and had found Clarice curled on the ground, her hand grasping the entry wound on her upper thigh. Her face was contorted with pain as she met the eyes of the younger agent. Lindsey could do little fro Clarice at the moment, knowing that they was no way at the moment to call for help, seeing as the radio was left squawking in the dust near the front tire of the Vic. Helping Clarice to a sitting position near the trees, she pulled the woman's blazer off and did her best to create a bandage for the wound. There was no exit wound, so it stood to reason that the bullet had lodged against the bone. Clarice had grunted off further help, harshly ordering Lindsey to get after the guy. Setting her face after trying to protest and receiving a look that could kill, Lindsey took off across the clearing. She could hear him ahead, and she carried forth with purpose. Clarice closed her eyes and leaned back against the tree and felt the hot tears run down her cheeks. What she felt next she had not expected.

*****

He was in a picnic area, not more than twenty five feet from the road. A dry creek ran under a foot bridge and there were picnic tables set up against a large sandstone outcropping. White plastic trashbags fluttered over the barbecue grills next to the picnic tables, evidence of the still enforced fire ban. Staring at them, he saw precisely what he needed. He tugged the bag off on of the grills and pulled on the handle to the grate. He wondered momentarily as it didn't move if they were of the kind that was welded to the grate. Grunting, he tugged harder, and was rewarded. A black metal rod came off in his hands, almost a foot and a half long, with a coiled grip on the end he was holding. He was examining his prize when he heard the voice ring out from the trees behind him.

"Freeze! FBI!"

*****


	18. End of the Silence

Hey! Look! It's a new chapter! Feel free to cheer. Yes, I have a lot on my plate, but I promise to behave and finish everything before the end of the month. Hopefully. Don't hold your breath on that zombie tale though. Much thanks to Kurt, who sparked my muse for something else last night. I was trying to write something else, and this is what came out. Okey dokey then, here we go.

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__

How long can a man stay silent before he returns to the thing he does best?

The continual thrum of the air conditioning made the building seem almost as if it were breathing. It was not a comforting thought when you are alone in the basement of that building, sixty feet underground, caged in a small office with walls of battleship grey. A war battered desk sits in the midst of the maelstrom, not entirely an island of refuge, seeing it is as cluttered with papers as the rest of the office. A large corkboard hangs on one wall, catty corner to an equally large dry-erase board. Both are covered with their own colorful and non-too-enchanting attractions. 

Old and new clippings litter the corkboard, taken from newspapers and magazines alike. Headlines from the _National Tattler_ scream at the observer in seventy-two point Railroad Gothic, and the pictures plastered on their front pages are just as eye catching. Newspapers, yellowed from the years hang side by side with the _Tattler_ pages. One headline form the old newsprint screams 'Bill Skins Fifth', another holds the quote from e.e. cummings' deadly little poem 'Buffalo Bill'. _… how do you like your blueeyed boy Mister Death _Newer clipping also reside on the board, magazine clippings that highlight full color photographs of the two people this board commemorates.

The dry-erase board is an amalgam of red, blue, green, and black markings. Three lists run down the board, assorted commentary interspersed between them. Some make sense to the uninitiated, others do not. It is of no matter now, since everything these things represent have once again crashed to the floor with the grace of a shattering teacup.

Behind the battle scarred desk, half hidden by the large flat panel monitor, she sat. Tipped back in the only new thing in her office, the wonderfully comfortable office chair, she sat, staring endlessly at the ceiling. Her head hurt, but not so much as her pride. All the effort over the years, traded in an instant for nothing. She would not cry, she promised herself that as she sat there, swallowing against the rising sobs and squeezing her eyes tight against the tears.

A TV also resides in the office, high up on the wall on a swinging arm of the type found in hospitals. No sound issues from it, but the pictures still play across it. The same ones over and over again, the same event replayed to the entertainment and fear of the world. Lock your doors! Keep your children inside! Don't go out unless you need to, there's a madman on the loose! The world just couldn't get enough, could they? No, they could never get enough of Hannibal Lecter.

Nor, it seemed, could they get enough of Clarice Starling. That was part of the reason as to why she was still residing in her dull office below the Earth. She didn't like her face to be splashed over every screen in America, placed on every front page of every newspaper. Not that it mattered, it would still happen, whether she liked it or not. And she would once more lay claim to the infamy of being the one with the connection to the sociopathic psychiatrist.

Hannibal the Cannibal and the FBI's Angel of Death. What a combination. What a match made in Hell. The media ate it up like it was candy, especially the _Tattler_. Not twenty four hours had passed since Lecter's escape, and she had already hung up on the _Tattler_ reporter six times. The anger rose in Clarice as the phone began to ring again at that moment. Seizing the receiver violently she lifted it to her ear, already priming herself to yell at whomever was on the other end.

"Starling."

There was a long pause on the other end, silence buzzing with static. A cellular phone. There was nothing as Clarice opened her mouth once more to tell the caller exactly what she thought of prank callers. The breath died before it escaped her lips as the caller spoke.

"Not a very cordial way to answer the phone, Special Agent Starling."

She was frozen, unable to react, unable to speak or do anything. Her eyes went to the TV where, coincidentally, a picture of him was on the screen.

"No 'hello' for a dear old friend, Clarice? I thought you had better manners than that."

Her voice cracked as she worked her mouth around the word. "Hello."

The smile was almost audible in his voice, "That's better. How are you feeling, Clarice? Angry? Upset? Embarrassed? Or perhaps, slightly elated? We both knew you never really wanted to see me in that cell, otherwise you would have visited more often."

She sucked in air like a swimmer coming to the surface after a dive. Her knuckles were white on the receiver as she spoke quietly. "I'm going to catch you, Dr. Lecter."

A chuckle. "We'll see about that, Special Agent Starling. It will be a fun chase nonetheless, you and the brave FBI chasing down the feared murderer. Quite a story for the tabloids. I'm especially sure the _Tattler_ and Mrs. Morricone will love it."

"I'm going to catch you." the statement was issued in a much quieter tone this time, cold and hard. Issued in a voice that made it clear that she was a woman who stood between iron and silver.

"I'll be waiting, Clarice. Ta."

The silence of the disconnection buzzed in her ear until the dial tone made her put the phone down. She rocked back again in the chair, then sat back upright to rest her elbows on the desk. There sat Clarice, head resting in the palms of her hands, trying to decide whether to scream or to cry. Finally recovering enough, she called down to the switchboard and asked them to try and trace the call she just received. Laying down the receiver once more, she waited. A much younger agent leaned his head in the door, looking slightly nervous. She looked at him, hoping she wouldn't have to speak to make him tell her what he wanted.

"Agent Starling?" she nodded, and he swallowed before continuing. "Your security company just called to let you know that they had an alarm go off at your house. They're on there way over there right now."

The phone rang as she opened her mouth to question the messenger. Plucking the receiver from its place once more she listened to the caller. She felt tired and nauseous as she hung up the phone. A quick check of the drawer proved her fear to be dead on. She looked back to the kid in her doorway, waving her arm expansively over her desk.

"Call the security company and tell them not to bother. The car will be gone, as well as few other items, including my cell phone. Let SAC Pearsall know about it. I already know who broke in." 

"Who?" the kid looked like a puzzled bird as his head titled to the side.

"Hannibal Lecter."

*****

"Freeze! FBI!" the clear voice rang out through the juniper scented night, reaching his ears as he neared the figure seated in the clearing. He knelt by her and leaned over, catching the cold look in her eyes as he did so.

All of that surfaced in her mind as she looked to see her current benefactor standing, rather kneeling, over her. The pain radiating from her leg broke off all coherent thoughts once more as he prodded the wound. He grunted and removed his windbreaker, lifting her leg to work it under it, raising a cloud from the soft red dirt below. It was all she could do to not scream when he moved her leg. Not being able to share her discomfiture with him physically, she settled for a glare at his face, which was entirely lost in the darkness. 

"Shhh, Clarice. You've been shot."

"Really? I hadn't noticed. How astute of you." she remarked sourly. Pain once again cascade through her as he applied pressure to the wound with her hand.

"Just like old times, Clarice." he brushed a hand against her cheek and smiled to himself as she turned away from the contact.

"Shut up."

He removed his hand from hers, and she heard him scoot back and stand, feet shuffling in the dirt. "Be a good girl and keep pressure on that wound, Clarice." once more, the icy glare was lost in the darkness. He was going to continue with something more before a yelp cut through the hot air followed by a string of obscenities.

"Lindsey." Clarice whispered.

"Give me one minute, Clarice, then call for help. You need medical attention, more than I can give you here and now."

"And you are going where?"

There was a distinctive click as a knife snapped open and Clarice felt a cold rush, causing shivers even in the oppressive heat.

"I have some business to attend to."

*****

The words hurt her throat as she yelled them into the night. Her throat was raw and she was winded from the dash through the trees in the hot, dry air. She stood there in the proper Weaver stance, gun up and aimed at the barely visible silhouette by the rocks, panting as she held her aim. There was no visible reaction from the target, and she cried out again. 

"FBI! Drop your weapon and place your hands on your head!" Her voice rang in her head as she tried to hold herself steady. The adrenaline surging through her system was not doing her any good. The figure moved and Lindsey shifted her stance slightly. She saw the arms raise and the figure turn slightly. She knew it before her target had made his move, and was already propelling herself forward as he turned tail and ran. A half whispered obscenity escaped her lips as she followed him back into the brush. She tripped on a rock and almost sent herself sprawling on the ground. Instead, all she succeeded in doing was breaking the heel on her right shoe. Grumbling she removed the expensive leather shoes from her feet and set off once more. The ground tore at her thin nylons and Lindsey swore to herself that she would only wear reasonable shoes to the office after this. Yeah, reasonable shoes, like running shoes. Damn what Loren would say about dress code and policy.

Distracted by her erroneous thoughts Lindsey was not prepared when she was slammed back into the space between the sandstone and a juniper bush. The breath was knocked out of her and before she could recover she was shoved once again, this time into the juniper bush itself. The strong scents of the pine filled her nostrils as a few sprigs were shoved into them. Gasping for breath she snapped an elbow back at her attacker. It connected solidly with what she guessed, hoped, was his face. Unfortunately, the retaliation from him was much worse than she had ever thought to expect.

*****


	19. Perilous Times

Ooooohhhh, chapter. Amazing what I will do when properly inspired by a lack of sleep. As soon as I finish this chapter, I'm off to remedy that situation. The end of the chase, and gore. So as to assure Kurt that I am not headed over to the Light Side with the mush in 'Tragedy's Sister.' Have fun, all.

**************************************************************************************

The thin, high pitched cry of a bat cut through the night instants before Lin's cry shattered the relative quiet. She fell heavily to her knees, gasping for breath as she rolled away from her attacker. The searing pain that ran across her shoulders assured her that he meant for her not to survive this encounter. She moved cautiously as she pushed herself back to her feet, barely dodging another swing from the man that had moments before been her prey. 

The third swing proved to be unlucky for Lindsey, as she instinctively threw an arm up to ward off the blow. The searing pain caused her knees to buckle and she crumpled ungracefully into the red dirt. Her head was pounding and her breath came in short quick gasps. She held her left arm tight against her chest, protecting the wounded limb as much as she could, leaving her defenseless. Seeing the dim figure raise the iron rod again she backpedaled as much as she could in the soft ground. She felt the outstretched arms of a scrub oak press into her back, reminding her of the injury that lay across her shoulders. The tree did little to protect Lindsey.

The last thing Lindsey clearly remembered was a glimpse of the stars through the branches of the oak. She blinked, once, felt time slow and clearly saw the rod come down towards her head. The pain was instantaneous, but fortunately, so was unconsciousness.

*****

The night seemed to tremble at that point. Here he stood, towering over the limp and unprotesting form that lay at his feet. His heart beat rapidly and he could feel the rush of adrenaline pouring through him. His sense were heightened, and he felt that at that moment, he could feel every living thing around him shiver. The crickets had fallen silent, and nary a sound was heard, not even a breeze dared to break the hold he felt he had on the world at that moment.

And then the moment was gone.

He heard the twig snap before the shadow launched itself from the brush almost a meter away. The shadow moved quickly, not wasting a single movement as it swept towards him. Pete brought the grill rod up to bear, swinging wildly at the attacker as it lunged for him. His bellowed cry reverberated off the stone, a sound not heard in this area for an unknown time. As the echo bounced back to him he felt the rod being torn from his grasp. For the first time, fear entered Pete's mind.

He heard the rod ping against the red sandstone a distance away as it was cast aside. The smell of sweat hung in the air, mingling with the juniper and the metallic scent of fresh blood. Sirens screamed in the distance, and barely visible over the tops of trees were the flashing strobes from the police cruisers that now filled the park. He was trapped, but he was less concerned about the FBI and local law enforcement than he was about the man that stood in front of him.

Pete outweighed and overshadowed the doctor, but that meant little in this situation. Dr. Lecter has the strength of an ant, and if pushed, makes for a very dangerous opponent. Barely visible in the nearly lightless night, a wicked blade curves from the doctor's grip. If he could see the fire in Lecter's eyes at that moment, Pete Adamowski would have no doubt that he was looking into the fires of hell, the eyes of the devil himself. Doubtless, Pete would not be the first nor the last man to see those eyes in such a moment.

Lashing out with his hands, Pete lunged for the doctor, hoping to gain purchase on the doctor's throat. It was his only chance, and if he could succeed, he could escape this encounter alive. Lecter was too canny to be taken like that, and sidestepped the lunging man with catlike reflexes. The curved blade of the Harpy cut through the air at the same instant, slicing deep into Adamowski's side.

Pete recoiled from the sharp pain, and felt his skin slicken with blood. It hurt now to draw deep breaths and he gasped a little as he tried to bring himself to stand upright once more.

Lecter was on him in a moment, knife in hand, striking at the man's exposed and vulnerable abdomen. There was barely as trace of blood on the Harpy as it flashed in and out so quickly in the night. Unlike with Gnocco, he was careful not to cut the artery. Pete deserved to have a slow death. Not as slow as Lecter would have liked, for circumstances would not permit that, but slow enough. Pete was toppling forward onto his knees at that point as Lecter stepped back. Blood mixed with the red dirt, forming an awful red mud that Pete knelt in. He was crying, Dr. Lecter noticed for the first time, and whispering something. Lecter leaned close enough to hear the words, which he found to be amusing. 

Pete Adamowski was reciting the 'Hail Mary', reciting it over and over with a fervor, as if the words themselves might be enough to save him. The heartless murderer who had sought to take Clarice and Lindsey from Hannibal Lecter praying to God in his final moments. Not even God would be able to save Pete from his fate.

"Hail Mary…"

"Pete…"

"…full of grace, the Lord is with thee…"

"Praying will do you no good, Pete."

"…and blessed art thou, amongst women…"

"You are not blessed, Pete."

"…and blessed is the fruit of thou womb, Jesus."

"Do you know what you sought to do, Pete?"

"Holy Mary, mother of God…"

"You sought to take from me what is mine."

"…pray for us sinners…"

"God won't hear your prayers, Pete."

"…now, and at the hour of our death…"

Pete looked up at that point, and Dr. Hannibal Lecter stood before him like the reaper himself. The edge of a helicopter searchlight swept over them at that precise moment, filling Pete's eyes with an image that was straight out of hell. Lecter was smiling at him, the white teeth against the red lips, the fires of hell burning in his gaze. His head titled fractionally as his lips formed a word Pete could not hear over the helicopter approaching them. He knew what Lecter was saying though, and opened his mouth to scream.

"Amen."

The Harpy struck, cutting deep into Pete's throat, severing his carotid artery and then continuing through his larynx. He gurgled, the scream dying before it began as he fell forward into the dust. Slowly, bathed in the light from the helicopter, Lecter bent and wiped the harpy on the back of Pete's shirt. Turning away, with the men above him watching and taping this all for posterity, he stepped to Lindsey. The full extent of her injuries was clearly visible in the bright light and Lecter carefully felt for a pulse at her neck. It was there, thready and light, but it was there. In the dust storm generated by the rotorwash from the helicopter, in the first light to have pieced the night since this deadly chase had begun so long ago, Lecter showed compassion.

The cameras onboard the police helicopter caught t and it was played in the news the next day. Dr. Hannibal Lecter, MD. Feared serial killer and sociopathic madman, carrying the wounded FBI agent to safety. Clarice watched it from her hospital room bed the next evening, listening to the reporters ponder the reasons behind the cannibal's sudden compassion. Clarice turned the TV off, sick of the voices telling her about things they didn't know about. Her head sank back into the pillows and she closed her eyes, thinking of Lindsey, who lay two floors below in the ICU. Thinking of Lecter, and knowing the reason why he had done what he did. The same reason he had helped her that night. Not out of compassion, not out of love, not out of anything like the media thought. No, all he wanted to do was preserve what he saw as his. Lecter would not be denied what he wanted, and he would do everything in his power to have it. A little sigh escaped Clarice as she drifted into a restless sleep, the slight throb of her leg reminding her of the costs involved with seeking out Hannibal the Cannibal.

*****

__

Okey dokey then. No, this is not the end, merely the end of the first half. There's still a bit of story to go. (yes, I know, I need to learn to write shorter stories) Thank you all for sticking by me, and dealing with all the delays that have been encountered throughout the writing of this damned thing. But, time to get cracking and onto part two. Enjoy, dear ones.


	20. Last Day

Seven Months Later

Lindsey looked out from her third story office window as the snow fell in a swirl outside, eventually settling to the ground below. Everything was blanketed with a shroud of white while a grey sky looked down from overhead. The sun was little more than a shimmering disk that shed little light and even less heat on this day. The proximity to the window and the cold didn't bother Lindsey as she stood with arms crossed over her chest, her back to her desk and computer. She couldn't see a better day to walk away from what she had been sure was to be her career. Slowly, she turned away form the window and looked down on the box that sat in her chair. It was the second such box she had filled from her tiny, cramped office. In them was her life from the FBI, or what was left of it. She had struggled along for five months, trying to deal with the bureaucracy, and she had found that she couldn't. She wasn't being forced to do this by anyone, it had been her decision. She remembered the look on SAC Loren's face as she had turned in her notice three weeks ago, the disbelief as she had stood before him in his office. He had tried for the entirety of those three weeks to convince her to stay. Nothing could convince Lindsey to stay.

She reached across the desk and picked up one of the photos that was still on display. It had been taken soon after she had been released from the hospital. She had been praised for her insight on the case, for being the one to basically solve the murders. And what did she get for that insight? More than a month in the hospital, ongoing physical therapy, and a pat on the back with a smiled 'Good job, Singleton.' Her rewards for a job well done. Somehow she found it more than a little lacking.

Two women smiled out from behind the glass in the frame, arms around each other's shoulders. She and Clarice, smiling in the late autumn sun before Clarice had returned to Washington. Lindsey was pale and gaunt, looking like a ghost of the older woman. Her still shorn head was hidden beneath a wig that reasonably matched her natural haircolor. All in all, she looked pretty good for a woman who had been attacked by one serial killer and saved by another. If that wasn't irony, nothing was.

She settled the frame into the box, looking down at the smiling faces and shivered. Clarice hadn't told her until that morning when the picture was taken. Lecter had saved Lindsey's life, killing Pete Adamowski in the process. For all intents and purposes, Lindsey believed that if it hadn't been for Dr. Lecter's intervention that she would not be walking this Earth right now. Pete had been intent on killing her, intent on duplicating the infamous murders Lecter had committed in Memphis while in custody. It was strange to think that she owed her life to a man that had taken so many without a second thought. Perhaps that spoke for something. She was one of the few that had met him and had been spared his wrath. She felt a sort of kinship with Clarice now, but she hoped she would never really become as close to Lecter as Starling had. Something like _that_ was the last thing she needed in her life.

A knock on the door broke Lindsey out of her thoughts and she looked up from the box to see Taisa standing in the doorway, grinning broadly. Lindsey smiled and took her fingers from where they still rested on the photograph.

"Going to come to your own party or not?" Taisa asked, stepping into the barren office. Lindsey nodded silently and placed the lid on the box in her chair. She hefted the box and set it atop the other one next to the desk before replying.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, Taisa." she smiled and came around the desk, as Taisa backed into the hallway ahead of her. Lindsey walked down the hall to the elevators for the last time as a FBI agent.

*****

The house seemed oddly empty as she opened the door and carried the boxes inside. The heat was on and it was a welcome change from the cold wind and snow outside. Shaking the snow off her gloves, Lindsey removed them and dropped them onto a nearby heater vent. The coat, scarf, and hat followed quickly, being neatly hung on the pegs by the door instead of being dropped to the floor. She carried the boxes into the living room and left them there as she headed to the kitchen. The phone on the counter blinked an indicator light at her, and she hit the speed dial button for her voice mail as she stepped past. She leaned back over the counter a few moments later to enter her security code and then to access her messages. She listened to them as she pulled a cup from the cupboard and a package of hot chocolate. She had to return after the end of each message to delete it, but it didn't bother her. She smiled as Clarice's voice came tinnily over the speaker phone.

"Hey, Lindsey, last day and all. Must feel pretty good to get out from under all this crap. Look, give me a call anytime, and stop by next time you're in Washington. Good luck, girl." 

Lindsey stepped over and hit the correct number to save the message, smiling and humming to herself. A couple more well-wishers from the Bureau, her sister, and a solicitor. By the time the last message came on, Lindsey was singing quietly, sipping hot chocolate and wrapping cold fingers around the mug. She gasped at the voice that came over the speaker phone, drawing nearer and listening intently. 

"Agent Singleton? This is Gregory Orbinson. We met on the hill in Colorado Springs a few months ago, while you were on a case. Forgive me if I am being forward, Agent Singleton, but I wanted to check up on you, and make sure everything was going well in your life. Congratulations on your successful closing of your case in Colorado Springs, even if they are a bit belated. I have been rather busy as of late. I would appreciate it very much if we could, perhaps, meet again sometime. Please, feel free to call me, if you feel the same. My number is three-oh-three, five-five-five, six-nine-four-nine. I hope to hear from you soon, Agent Singleton."

Lindsey stared at the phone as if it would suddenly transport the owner of that voice into her kitchen at that moment if she wished hard enough. She reached out to the phone and hit the number to repeat the message, grabbing a pen and notepad as well to write his number down. The area code indicated that he was in the Denver area, and not Colorado Springs. After the message played through again she saved it and exited the voice mail system. She traced the number on the pad with a fingertip, reading it and embedding it in her mind. 303-555-6949. Lindsey smiled broadly as she raised the mug to her lips again. It was turning out to be a really good day indeed.

*****


End file.
